Wonderland
by Jess the Enthusiast
Summary: "What's a Muggle?" A Muggle in Platform Nine and Three Quarters was unheard of - until Spencer Lockwood. Good thing she ran into James Potter. James Sirius/OC
1. Falling into Wonderland

I threw my magazine down on the seat next to me with perhaps more force than necessary. After being on the train for a few hours, I had already read through it about forty times and was getting bored and frustrated with re-reading the same nonsense articles. Curse this long train ride and my amazing speed-reading skills.

I looked around my train compartment, searching for something to amuse me or to at least stare at, and instead caught the eye of the little old lady sitting opposite me. She really was little and coming from me, that says something. Standing at five feet, I am an honoree member of the Fun-Size Club and this lady may as well have been the president. She was cute though in her little flower-patterned dress and glasses too big for her elfish face. I smiled at her and she grinned back, offering me a piece of chocolate from her purse. I gladly accepted, completely ignoring my mother's warning to the five year-old me about taking candy from strangers. But I'm pretty sure that excluded sweets from a nice old lady. I nearly choked at the image of her trying to abduct me with her little scrawny arms and legs. That would be a sight I'd pay to see.

We remained pretty quiet after that, making small talk here and there. I told her about how I was returning from boarding school for the summer, how I hadn't seen my family since Christmas time. She was visiting her granddaughter who had recently had a baby boy and upon my request, very proudly showed me a photo of her great-grandson; he was adorable.

Not too long after that, the train came to a halt. I quickly collected my things and made my way to the compartment exit.

"It was very nice talking to you," I told the woman.

She smiled. "And you, deary. Enjoy your summer!"

I thanked her and made my way off the train and onto the platform. I tried to ignore the pain in my slowly-awaking legs while I looked around for my father who was supposed to pick me up and take me back to his flat. My parents had divorced when I was seven so ten years later I was very much used to being passed back and forth between my mum and dad like a game of Hot-Potato.

I spun around in circles like an idiot for about ten minutes trying to spot him in the sea of people but found no luck. But I suppose I looked less stupid doing that than when I was jumping up and down trying to see over the heads that towered over mine. I took my phone out of my duffel bag and angrily dialed his number, tapping my foot as I anxiously waited for him to answer. Clearly, I had yet to master the art of patience in my seventeen years. On the fifth ring he finally picked up.

"Hullo? Who's this?" I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Not a good sign; he bloody damn well knew it was me, he had Caller-ID. This could only mean one thing:

"You forgot, didn't you?"

"Oh, hey pumpkin, how's it going?" Avoiding the subject: also not good.

"You forgot that you had to pick me up, didn't you?"

A pause. "No I didn't."

Typical, absolutely typical. "Yeah you did."

"No I didn't."

"Yeah you did."

"No I did-"

"Okay, for arguments sake, let's just say that you didn't forget." I could feel my face getting hot with anger. Why am I always taking on the parental role between the two of us? Maybe that's why my mum divorced him; being married to a twelve year-old must be exhausting. "Do you at least have any idea as to when you're gonna be here?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure, love. I have a lot of work I need to catch up on since I accidentally slept in this morning. I'm sorry." Although I was really mad at him, in his defense he really did sound sorry. "Sit tight until I get there?"

I let out a heavy sigh. "Fine," I mumbled. "See you soon." I hung up and shoved my phone back into my bag. This wasn't the first time he had stranded me until further notice; the universe clearly hated me. I'd probably be dead by the time he finally decided to grow up.

I realize it would probably save me a lot of grief if my mum just picked me up but whenever I came home, my dad volunteered to do the job. And I didn't want to tell on him every time he forgot or was ungodly late. It was one of my biggest fears that my mum would use it against him when they argued, which was pretty frequently. I didn't need to give her another reason to think that he was an unfit parent.

Accepting that I was going to be there for a while, I maneuvered myself away from the line of traffic of people and headed straight for the wall that was in between Platforms Nine and Ten. Placing my trunk and bag on the ground next to me, I folded my arms and leaned up against the wall, immediately regretting it.

When my back made contact with the wall, it was if it hadn't at all. I kept falling backwards, literally _through _the wall, disappearing into the bricks. It happened so fast that I almost didn't have time to comprehend it; there was no way to stop it.

When I landed flat on my arse, my first thought was that I had leaned into the air thinking that the wall was behind me when it in fact wasn't, but something didn't seem right. Sitting on the concrete floor, I was staring directly at a wrought-iron archway I was pretty sure wasn't there before labeled _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_. Was there such a thing? That's not possible, is it? _Maybe I hit my head on my way down and am imagining things_.

I got up off the floor and looked around for my things; they were no where to be found. How strange, they were there only a second ago.

I turned around to evaluate my surroundings when I all of a sudden I realized I was in Wonderland.

Next to the platform stood a large steam engine train, red in coloring, and on its black face said the unfamiliar words "Hogwarts Express" and the number 5972. I gaped at the train, at its beauty and massive size. I was in complete awe.

But the train wasn't what baffled me the most. There was a rush of people, some of them wearing funny clothing and hats; the children and teenagers had trunks and carts at their sides, many with owls in cages and cats in their arms; and they were all carrying wooden sticks. I heard parts of some conversations, discussing topics I'd never heard of and didn't understand.

"…Yeah, well Gryffindor may have won the Quidditch House Cup this year but once we get rid of that bloody Parkinson as captain, Slytherin's gonna take the trophy…"

"…Guess what? I passed my Apparation Test on the first try…"

"…The Hogwarts castle is so cool, mum, you should have seen it! The staircases _change_…"

"…Do you think I'll be made a Prefect for next year?…"

It was all so odd I half expected a giant rabbit to go running by wailing _"I'm late! I'm late!"_ Tea party anyone?

I had to be dreaming; this wasn't real. What's wrong with these people? What are they doing here? What's a Hogwarts? _What the fuck was in that chocolate I ate?_

I looked around frantically to see if anyone else looked as confused as I felt. I had no idea where I was or if the means that I thought I had gotten here with were even possible.

"Are you alright?" a voice said from behind me, startling me out of my panicked thoughts. It belonged to a teenage boy. "You look like a mental case just standing there looking around like that."

I spun around to face him and ask him how _I_ could possibly be the mental case here but my words got caught in my throat. The first thing I noticed about him was his height. He towered over me by about a foot and I had to crane my neck up to see his face properly. And boy was I glad that I did. Standing before me was possibly one of the best-looking boys I had ever laid my eyes on in my entire life. And he was talking to _me_.

This guy looked my age and had raven colored hair that stood up in many different directions, creating a "I-just-rolled-out-of-bed" type look that seriously worked for him. His eyes were brown and bored into mine, I felt as if he could see into my soul. Okay maybe not, but I definitely felt like he was _judging_ me. What, a girl can't fall through brick walls and look like a mental case every once in a while?

The beautiful boy was obviously amused at my reaction to him and patiently waited for me to pick my jaw (and dignity) off the floor and answer him. But I couldn't think of anything to say that made sense. Or was coherent for that matter.

After what felt like forever, but was probably just a minute at most (I hope), I finally said something. "I…I fell…through the wall." I have a way with words, don't I?

He raised one eyebrow and pointed to the archway behind me. "You mean the barrier?"

I scratched my head. "I…guess so. Listen, could you just please tell me what's going on here? I'm so lost…"

I trailed off as he stared at me, the amusement leaving his eyes and he seemed to have come to some sort of realization that I didn't quite understand.

"What's your name?" he asked finally.

Giving strangers my name was another one of my mother's rules but he seemed harmless enough. Then again, so did that old lady on the train and all signs seem to be pointing to that she may have drugged me. But then if that were true, then that would mean that this was a hallucination, therefore I wasn't really giving him my name, was I? None of this was real. Right? This is how I rationalized my next move.

"Spencer Lockwood." I looked around me before I said my name-whispered it actually. I didn't want any of the crazy stick-carrying people to hear me and try to steal my identity.

"Nice to meet you Spencer, I'm James Potter," he replied, startling me by grabbing my hand. "Would you mind coming with me for a moment?" I stared at him unsure. He laughed, most likely at my facial expression. "Don't worry, you'll be safe with me."

"Okay," I mumbled before I could stop myself. _I should really stop staring into his eyes,_ I thought. _They're enchanting me into agreeing to things I normally wouldn't._

But before I could change my mind or even protest, James was walking, towing me behind him. We were headed towards a family, one that I assumed was his due to the fact that they looked like him. We stopped in front of a man who I assumed was his father since he looked just like James with the exception of distinct green eyes, glasses, and a funny looking scar on his forehead, which if I saw correctly, was in a shape of a lightning bolt.

"Um mum, dad…" James said, looking back at me. His parents stopped their conversation with their two younger kids, looked first at their eldest son, and then their eyes settled on me.

"Who's this, James? A friend of yours from school?" His mother smiled at me. She was really pretty with fiery red hair and was tall and thin; she hardly looked like she could be a mother of three.

With his free hand, James nervously ran it through his messy hair. I suddenly became very much aware of the fact that he was still holding my hand. His warmth felt nice against my cold fingers. "Um no, actually," He lowed his voice to a whisper so I wouldn't hear but his words reached my ears anyway. "I found her over by the archway. Her name's Spencer. She's a muggle, said that she fell through the barrier. What do we do?"

"What's a muggle?" I blurted out without thinking. My face immediately flushed red as the Potter family turned to me. None of them responded to my question right away; they didn't seem to know what to say.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Mr. Potter said kindly after a few moments of awkward silence.

"So what do you think we should do?" James asked his father.

I knew he was referring to me when he said that but I wasn't sure what exactly he meant by it. "Do about what?" I felt like a nosy little kid.

They ignored my question and began discussing me as if I wasn't standing right there.

"Well technically, what we're supposed to do is bring her to the Ministry to have her memory erased," WHAT? "But that's completely out of the question." Whew, I can breathe again.

Mrs. Potter nodded in accord. "I agree with your father, James, and I'm sure that you do too."

He lightly squeezed my hand. "Yeah, I do."

James' younger brother who was almost an exact copy of Mr. Potter then spoke up. "Maybe she can just promise not to tell anyone and we can let her be on her way."

His sister snorted. I could tell that she was several years younger than me but she-like the rest of the family-was much taller than me. "Great idea, Al, your problem solving skills are _astounding_." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Al glared at the redhead. "Shut up, Lily, I don't hear you coming up with anything better."

"Alright you two, that's enough!" Mrs. Potter scolded before Lily could even open her mouth to argue.

Mr. Potter put both of his hands on my shoulders and leaned down so that he was at my eyelevel. Way to make me feel like I was nine years old, Mr. Potter. Way. To. Go.

I could feel that James was still holding my hand. My heart pounded heavily at the thought.

"Spencer," Mr. Potter began. I could tell that he was choosing his words carefully, wondering how he should address this. "Are you going to mention this to anyone? The train, the platform, the people you saw, and the things you heard?"

"Well, this _is_ all a dream," I paused briefly. "Isn't it?"

Mr. and Mrs. Potter looked at each other and nodded, communicating with one another telepathically as most married couples seem to be able to. "Yes, it is." he murmured. Ever so slowly he took a wooden stick out of his pocket and raised it, pointing it in my direction. He mumbled something I didn't quite understand and I suddenly felt a wave of sleepiness sweep over me. Before I knew it, my eyelids were heavy and I was fighting to keep them open. The last thing I saw was James' smile.

I woke up to someone roughly shaking my arm and calling my name. Blinking a few times in attempt to focus my vision, I realized it was my dad.

"Hey, pumpkin," he cooed. "You were out like a light. I've been trying to wake you for the past five minutes."

"Sorry." I stretched out my arms, cracking my back, and to my surprise realized that I was sitting on the floor. I was leaned up against my trunk with my bag in my lap. _Funny, I don't remember sitting down…_

"No need to be sorry, Spencer. Welcome home!" He enveloped me into a giant hug, crushing my inner organs, and stood me up.

"Thanks daddy," I yawned. I didn't realize before that I was so tired. My body felt weak and limp, it was a wonder that I didn't collapse.

"I was thinking of taking you out for ice cream to make up for being so late but you seem pretty exhausted. Do you wanna just head back home and sleep? We can go tomorrow instead." Silly father, thinking that promises of ice cream or other delicious sweets can amend any wrongs.

I nodded. "Okay." My dad picked up my trunk for me and I put my duffel bag over my shoulder. We were about to leave when suddenly all of the memories came rushing back to my mind: the falling through the wall, the secret platform, the train, the boy and his family. It had felt so real and yet, it couldn't have been. It was impossible, it had to be.

I pivoted on my heels and headed back towards the wall in between Platforms Nine and Ten. I gingerly put my right hand onto the wall's surface and pressed into it expecting my arm to disappear through its exterior, but nothing happened. I tried again and the same thing: nothing. It was like pushing a brick wall, but that was because I _was_ pushing a brick wall. Feeling like an idiot, I turned around and walked back to my dad who was eyeing me suspiciously.

"Pardon, but what was that all about?"

I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. "Oh nothing, I just needed to check something."

He shrugged. "Okay, anything else you need to 'check' before we leave?"

"Nope, I'm good."

He put his arm around my shoulders and began babbling about something unintelligible, but I wasn't listening, my mind somewhere else. I was trying to convince myself that it couldn't have simply been a dream but that was the only conclusion that made sense. And all of my evidence that claimed otherwise was invalid; nothing happened when I touched the wall. I didn't end up in Wonderland again.

**A/N: HI there, I'm Jess! So usually I post on (and I will continue to do so), I just wanted to start posting here as well. I have the first 15 chapters of this story already written so I'll be able to update once a week. After that, updates will take a few weeks at a time.**

**I hope you liked chapter 1! Let me know in a review :D**


	2. Dreaming

I woke up the next morning in a panic, frantically assessing my surroundings and trying to figure out when exactly I had been kidnapped from my normal inhabitance at school. Survival instincts kicking in, my eyes immediately darted to my nearest escape routes: the window and the door. In an instant I decided that the window would be my best bet, as the door would most likely attract the attention of my abductor and put me in the position to have to battle it out with him. However in that case, my badass, mega, ninja-skills as a yellow-belt in karate would finally come into good use after all these years! The fact that I found that exciting was kind of unsettling.

What was even worse was the disappointment that swept over me once I realized that I was, in actuality, in the comfort of my father's flat. What kind of sick human being am I?

As the effects of my adrenal-induced mood quickly dissipated, I, rather sluggishly, rolled out of my bed and flopped onto the floor with a loud bang. _Good one Spence, that really hurt_. After that fiasco was over and done with, I stared at the ceiling for a good fifteen minutes, trying to find the will to stand. My Jedi powers were inconveniently not cooperating and out of commission; I was unable to levitate myself as planned so I had to do it the old-fashioned way: get off my lazy arse. Dejectedly, I picked myself off the floor and got ready for the day ahead of me. And when I was finally presentable, I made my way into the kitchen.

"Morning," I mumbled as I poked my head into the pantry. My eyes evaluated the array of unhealthy, sugary, cereals my father kept in the flat-much to my mother's distaste-and thought long and hard on which I was in the mood for. Sad isn't it when your biggest decision of the day is what you'll be eating for breakfast? After long deliberation, today's lucky winner was Cocoa Pebbles.

My dad grunted in response to my greeting, too consumed in a Batman comic book (no, not the newspaper, yes, a comic book) to form actual, coherent words. After retrieving a bowl from the cabinet, I hunted through the draws for a spoon (which was much more difficult than it should have been being that my dad is deficient in organization skills and insists on dispersing silverware throughout the kitchen). When I finally had the correct tools, I settled into a comfy chair at the table and ate my cereal in silence, not wanting to disturb my dad from the enduring mayhem in Gotham City.

After a few minutes, I couldn't stand the stillness any longer so I brought my attention to the back of the Cocoa Pebbles box. There was a collection of word games and puzzles that the designers cleverly put there for people like me who get bored easily. But being that I'm seventeen rather than seven, I completed them at a rate much too fast to occupy me long enough while I ate. So I counted how many corners the ceiling had. But it wasn't very satisfying because there were only five; it didn't give me much to do. Then I began counting the number of tiles on the table but stopped; there were too many. This was getting out of hand. Curse me and my A.D.D.! (I don't really have A.D.D. but it's times like these when I think that when I was little my pediatrician accidentally mixed up my test results with some kid that actually possessed an attention span).

Hoping that I had made at least _some_ progress, I glanced down at my bowl and to my dismay saw that I had only made a small dent in my cereal. _That can't be right,_ I thought. _I've been eating for, like, five minutes straight!_ I always knew I was a slow eater by the comments I received from others but I never realized the severity of my condition before now. Maybe that's something I should get checked out…

Nonexistent A.D.D. kicking in, my thoughts abruptly drifted from my inability to eat at proper speed to the conversation I had with my dad in the car on the way home from King's Cross. How he had looked, what he had said to me:

"_So did you hear?" he asked impatiently, interrupting my long-ass monologue on how my school year had gone (even _I_ was getting tired of it so I wasn't offended or anything). I could tell by his sudden outburst that something was on his mind; he had been fidgeting throughout the entire car ride and he always got antsy like that when he needed to get something off his chest._

"_No, what?" I asked nervously. Butterflies began to populate my stomach and create a commotion. _God, they're spastic little things considering that they don't even exist._ But I had every right to be anxious; whatever it was was obviously bothering him. And my dad's a pretty easy going guy so it had to be something big if it worried him so much._

"_You're mum has a new bloke," he spat bitterly. Oh, this was bad. It wasn't exactly a secret that my dad still had feelings for my mum after all these years, though he would never admit it; no matter _how_ obvious it was. And he and I, we never talked about it. But I knew. Every time she met someone I could see how it resurfaced all of the hurt he had tried to bury from the divorce. It just killed him to see her happy with another man. But at the same time, it's not like he hadn't had his fair share of girlfriends over the years; it just always upset him how she was so clearly fine without him while he was visibly wilting in her absence._

"_Really? Are you sure?" I tried to act surprised but I really wasn't. She usually went through an assortment of men pretty quickly but regardless I hoped I sounded convincing for his sake. Although I _was_ shocked that he had heard before I did. Yeah had been at school and all, but she normally told me these kinds of things before my dad got wind of them._

"_Yep. It's Facebook official," He gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning knuckles white._

_I know it doesn't sound like much, but it being on Facebook was a pretty big deal. Only her serious relationships made it there while the brief flings were left unmentioned (I know that sounds pretty bad but my mum's not a slut, I swear!). I didn't have a Facebook; only old people who were born in the twentieth century had them these days. The craze kind of died out after 2011. That would explain why my dad knew and I didn't (he should make a career out of his Facebook stalking; he's a pro) but you would think that my mum would have the decency to at least mention it to me. I mean, why wouldn't she? *Gasp* Maybe they were getting married and she wanted to tell me in person. But what would be the rush? They couldn't have been going out very long…Oh God, what if she got pregnant and because he's chivalrous he agreed to marry her for the sake of their unborn spawn! Oh my God, that _better_ not be the case because I've gone seventeen years not having to share my shit with anyone and I am _not_ starting now._

_As I was inwardly panicking I saw my dad looking at me from the corner of his eye. Crap, he's waiting for me to say something. Pull yourself together, act normal. "That, uh, really sucks. I'm sorry, dad." I wasn't really sure what else to say. I was originally considering the whole therapist approach with "And how does that make you feel?" but thought against it._

_My dad's expression contorted into something really odd that probably only clinically insane people get caught wearing. "Sorry? Why are you sorry? Don't be sorry, there's no reason for you to be sorry. It's not like I'm upset or anything." Uh-huh. Clearly. "Me upset about her finding someone that apparently meets her needs more than I ever did. Ha! That's a laugh! You ever thought about taking up a career in comedy, Spence? That's some good material you've got there." His laugh that followed was unnecessarily loud as if to emphasize how funny and absurd he thought it was._

Oh, how awkward, I'm witnessing my dad have a mental breakdown. Anyone see any turtles?_ "Um thank you…I think." I didn't want to dig any deeper in fear of my dad's sanity taking another fatal plunge but I needed to know. "Do you have any idea who this guy is?"_

"_Nope."_

"_Well, why not?" I demanded. I thought this guy was supposed to be good at finding information he had no right knowing. What kind of online stalker is he anyway? Evidently, not a very good one…_

"_Your mother didn't tag the stupid git," he snapped, clearly not pleased with my implication that he's inept in the creeper department._

_She didn't what? "In English, dad." He was constantly forgetting that I don't speak a word of Facebook lingo._

"_She didn't include his name in her relationship status update." he clarified impatiently. He always got frustrated when I didn't get what he was talking about in regard to Facebook._

"_Dad, do you honestly blame me for not knowing what you're bloody talking about? I mean Facebook has been on the outs for, like, ten years."_

"_IT'LL MAKE A COMEBACK!"_

And so that was that. We didn't discuss the subject of my mum's new beau again and as far has I could tell it was long forgotten, for the moment at least. We spent the rest of the ride debating whether or not Facebook or any of the other social networks that were once "hip" would be revived anytime soon. Although he begs to differ, I honestly doubt that a comeback is in the realm of possibilities. (And in case you didn't know, they had a lot of these social network sites: Facebook, Twitter, Formspring, Tumblr. Seriously, did they ever go outside back then?)

After what felt like forever but was only a few minutes, I finished eating my cereal and I put my bowl and spoon away in the dishwasher. I looked over at my dad whose eyes were still glued to his comic book. I just don't get him sometimes; he has probably read that issue a hundred times and yet he still hangs on every word, caught up the in the suspense. But whatever, he's weird; in his mind people can virtually poke one another.

I collapsed on the couch in the living room and stared at the wall wondering if I should call my mum. Why, you ask? First off I wanted to see if she would tell me about her new boyfriend (I keep saying "new" but for all I know they could have secretly been going steady since I last saw her during Christmas). And secondly, if she decided to be a prat and not confess right away, I wanted to drop hints to let her know that I'm already aware of her mysterious relationship. But I couldn't help but wonder if that was the wrong way to go about it. I was going to see her in a few days anyway as I was scheduled to stay at her place for a week only to be shipped back here and then return again (the rewarding lifestyle of a divorced couple's offspring). She'll probably tell me then; I might even get to meet him which, in case you're wondering, doesn't bother me the slightest. Never had I ever had a problem before with the blokes my mum dated because they were extremely polite and very classy. Mum has considerably good taste in men. Only my dad doesn't think so; in his mind every single one of her past boyfriends is phony and the scum of the earth. But my mum doesn't say any better about the women he comes home with. According to her, they're all scarlet women he paid to be his girlfriends to make her jealous. But I'm not so sure about that (the scarlet women part, that is, he's totally trying to make her jealous) because he once dated someone for a year and a half and I don't think he has enough money to compensate someone for that long…

My dad poked his head into the living room, interrupting my thoughts. "I'm heading out to work in a minute or two. I should get back at around six so we'll skip dinner and go have that ice cream I promised you instead. Sound good, pumpkin?"

Did I mention how awesome my dad is? "Leaving the flat to myself so I can have all of the sex and drug deals I want in peace _and_ get to have the oh-so-nutritious meal of ice cream when you return? I like your style, old man."

"Just as long as you don't burn the house down." He smiled, knowing that I was joking. Well, half joking really; I was particularly thrilled about the ice cream bit.

"See you later, love."

"Bye daddy."

I don't know how long I was sitting on the couch when I fell asleep. I had been thinking about my mum and dad and their complicated relationship when my eyes suddenly felt heavy. The sensation came out of nowhere; I wasn't even aware that I was so tired. I couldn't even fight it. With absolutely no energy left in my body, I soon felt myself drift far away…

Once again, I found myself in Wonderland. Only this time something was wrong. Very wrong.

The crowd of people was in a panic, rushing past me frantically in the same direction as if something or someone was after them. Some were even disappearing on the spot. I looked around to see the source of the alarm but couldn't see over the heads of those around me. Hands pushed at my back and I was launched forward into the person in front of me. Before I could even register what had happened I was caught in the chaos, forced in between the others around me. I tried to separate myself from the mayhem but was too small and frail to push myself through the bodies that surrounded me and into safety.

"Spencer?" a voice called. _His_ voice. My heart pounded fiercely at the sound. "Spencer where are you?"

"I'm here!" I called back in return, not able to see him. My voice was shaking; I was just so scared. I needed him with me, holding me in his arms, and telling me that everything would be alright. My heart ached for him and it hurt knowing how close he was but not being able to see him. "I'm right here, James!"

"I'm coming, Spencer! I'll be right there!" He sounded so worried, so broken. I knew exactly how he felt; I was crumbling from within.

I faced the direction that his voice came from, trying to spot him amongst the crowd. I held my breath as the seconds passed with still no sign of him. What if he had gotten attacked; trampled? I wouldn't be able to cope if anything were to harm him. "James?" I silently prayed for his safety and that he would find me as I screamed his name over and over again, my throat becoming raw from attempting to get myself heard over the noise the mass havoc created. And to my absolute horror he didn't respond.

I had never felt so lost, so powerless. I was almost like a rag doll the way I was being thrown around so easily. People were too close for comfort and the only one I really wanted to be near me was too far away. I was lost in the shuffle, never to be found. He wasn't coming; something bad had happened to him. I didn't want it to be true but the notion kept running through my mind, taunting me. I almost believed it.

But then I saw him-his hair to be more accurate. It was sticking all over the place as usual and just the sight of its untidiness comforted me. I could breathe again. Just by watching I could tell he was using all of the strength his muscled body could muster to weave through the crowd; it was a difficult task but he was making steady progress. I called his name again so that he would realize that he was getting closer to me; that he had almost made it. I counted the seconds until his face finally came into view, shoving through the sea of bodies and I saw the relief that swept over his features when our eyes looked; an expression that undeniably mirrored mine.

I felt like I was going to cry. I didn't realize it was possible to feel so much emotion, so much love, for one individual person. All I had ever known was the strange and complicated relationship between my parents: the failed marriage, years of endless pining, other relationships created purely out of spite. That wasn't love. I don't know what that was but it wasn't love. But this, what I had with James, was. I could feel it within me as my heart accelerated when his extended hand got closer to mine. We were reaching for one another, getting closer, our hands nearly touching-

There was a knock on the door.

My eyes flew open releasing me from my dream. Well that was weird. Why did I keep dreaming about that boy? James Potter. That was the second time in two days time and I wasn't positive why. I was certain we had never encountered one another in real life before so why would I dream of him? I wasn't even sure where we even were in these dreams but I knew it was somewhere secret, somewhere magical as crazy as that sounds. It was very odd. But man, did I have a bloody fantastic imagination or what? I should publish a fucking book; become a best-selling author! Become rich and famous and-

There was another knock on the door. _Oh, right…I guess I should go get that…_

I lifted myself off of the couch and yelled "Coming!" as I ran over to the door. Of course me being well, me, I stumbled on various objects along the way, nearly causing myself injury. I should really get myself checked out; it simply can't be normal for one to be such a safety hazard.

I opened the door and standing on the other side was Danny Greco. He was about nineteen years old, lived a few doors down from me and made it his life mission to annoy the shit out of me.

I tried to be as polite as possible when I sighed "What do you want, Danny?"

He raised his arm and leaned his elbow against the door frame. I don't know if he was trying to be sexy or something, but it wasn't working. "Same thing as always, beautiful." He wiggled his eyes suggestively at me. This is sexual harassment, right? "Your rack, by the way, looks _glorious _this fine morning-"

"Pig," I muttered as I shut the door in his face.

Rolling my eyes, I made my way back to the couch and just when I sat down, there was another knock on the door. I exhaled loudly and began making my way to the door.

"No, Danny," I called as I walked, "for the umpteenth time: I will _not _go out with you, I will _not _sleep with you, and I will _not _show you my boobs so why don't you just _fuck off_-"

When I finally reached the door, I threw it open; only to be floored by what was on the other side: tall, untidy black hair, brown eyes, and an enchanting smile. Standing before me was not Danny Greco, but the boy who, for the past two days, had been haunting my dreams: James Potter.

**A/N: **Chapter 2! I hope you liked it - please let me know what you thought in a review! Thanks to everyone who favorited this story and reviewed the last chapter; I really appreciate it. The next update will be next week :D

~Jess


	3. James Potter

My heart pounded furiously as I gripped the door frame for support. All of the air had escaped from my lungs; it felt like I had just seen a ghost. _Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable._ This wasn't possible. This was another dream I was about to wake up from, only to find that I had imagined it all; just like I had at the train station and on the couch. Another weird yet somehow very realistic dream. That's right; a dream. It had to be. There was no other way.

And yet there he was; right in front of me. Close enough to touch, close enough to run my fingers through his untidy hair. I immediately suppressed the desire to do so. I bit my lip. Why did I feel so strange around him? Even in my dreams I felt like a mess; my heart beating out of my chest, butterflies in my stomach. And I was no better in real life.

_How the hell did he get here?_ I found myself wondering. Not that I was complaining or anything, it was just that I thought he wasn't real; he couldn't have been. It just wasn't possible.

My eyes assessed him, soaking in his appearance and he, to my surprise, seemed to be doing the same to me. He was better looking than I had remembered. I sighed; definitely swoon-worthy. I'm pathetic, I know. Don't judge.

Our eyes finally met. He appeared to be extremely amused by my previous outburst and I failed to stop myself from flushing with embarrassment. Why did this sort of thing always happen to me? Does the universe really hate me _that_ much? If you ask me, it's a little excessive. The universe needs to get a life and quit making mine suck. Seriously, get a hobby. Like scrapbooking or watching birds. Anything other than making me shout _"__I will __not__show you my boobs"_ at the mega-hottie-of-the-century. Although in my defense, I had every right to flip out; being the object of Danny's affections can be very stressful!

And to be perfectly honest, boys scared me shitless. At age seventeen, I still had absolutely no experience with those possessing the Y chromosome. My parents _really_ screwed me over when they decided to send me to an all-girls boarding school all those years ago. I should have just became a lesbian; life would have been so much easier.

He cleared his throat, ending the silence between us that seemed to have lasted a lifetime. "Um," he finally began, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Expecting someone else?"

I froze. Fuck, how do I answer this without sounding like a lunatic? _"I thought you were my stalker"_ was clearly an unacceptable response. Why did I have to be such an awkward dork while he was so cool and sexy? Why universe? Why?

"Er…yeah. Sorry about that. I swear I'm not usually so…mental." My voice was surprisingly smooth when I spoke; a massive contrast to how I felt on the inside. God, this was awkward. And scary. I felt as if I was an author speaking to one of my main characters. It was like I was J.D. Salinger and he was Holden Caulfield. And we were talking. In the entrance to my father's flat. How strange.

"Oh, no. No need to apologize," he replied wickedly, a grin playing on his lips. "That was truly spectacular. The next person who greets me at the door has some _very_ large shoes to fill."

His light, teasing tone made me feel a little more at ease; I was in my element: banter.

I raised a single eyebrow at him, a skill I happen to be very proud of and quick to show off. Don't give me that look, you know you would too. "Glad that you find the deterioration of my mental state a source of entertainment."

"Oh, there was little effort on my part. You did that all by yourself," he replied coolly, taking a step closer to me, his eyes still locked on mine. His face had lost all signs of playfulness and suddenly fell serious.

"Well, I live to serve." I swallowed, my palms suddenly feeling sweaty. My heart spiked and pounded in my chest frantically. He was just so close; it scared me almost as much as it excited me. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my cool. "So, tell me, what brings you here?" My voice didn't sound as confident as it had previously.

His serious expression vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared and he returned to smiling. "Oh, right, I almost forgot. I've come to return…" He trailed off as he shoved his right hand into his pocket and, to my utter dismay, pulled out a familiar object covered in purple rhinestones and sparkles. "…this." He handed it over to me.

"My phone," I mumbled, utterly confused; I hadn't even realized that I'd lost it. I must have looked like a duffer the way I turned it over and over in my hands as if I had never seen a cell phone before. I looked up at him, my eyes wide. "But how did you-"

"You left it on the train," he supplemented hastily, cutting me off. I furrowed my eyebrows in puzzlement. "While we were talking, you set it down on the seat and later forgot it when you left."

I gaped at him, absolutely bewildered. I was well aware of how unattractive I probably looked with my jaw on the floor but I was too baffled to be concerned with that. All I knew was that that wasn't how I remembered us meeting; his version certainly didn't include a secret platform or any crazy stick-carrying people. Something was really fishy here…

When I didn't say anything, he continued. "I went after you and tried to give it back at King's Cross but I lost you in the crowd."

I continued to stare at him in shock; I was speechless. We stood in silence for a few moments as I tried to wrap my head around everything he said. This was unbelievable! The other day I had convinced myself that our meeting on the secret platform had only been a dream but when he appeared at my door I thought that it confirmed that I didn't make it up; that our encounter actually existed. That there was a world few knew of, a world filled with adventure and curious people. My own personal Wonderland. And _now_, he was telling me of a train ride together that I didn't even recall! I felt so mixed up; I had no idea what was reality and what was make believe anymore. So many things didn't match up, didn't make sense. What about the old lady who may or may not have drugged me on the train? She _was_ there; there was no questioning that. I was certain of it: I had found the wrapper of the chocolate she gave me in my duffle bag the night before…

Wait a minute.

Tearing myself away from my thoughts, I brought my attention back to James and eyed him suspiciously. At the current moment, I wasn't sure if I admired him or was flat out appalled. Either way, I was going to beat that fucktard at whatever game he was trying to play. "So," I said slowly, feeling pretty smug for figuring him out. "You're saying that we met on the train." It wasn't a question.

It was his turn to be confused. "Uh, yeah." He stared at me as if I was a completely loon.

"You were sitting with me."

"Yeah. I was right next to you. Don't you remember?"

I ignored James' question and continued with mine. "…And I left my phone on the seat."

"Yeah." He was starting to sound pretty frustrated with me but was trying to keep his expression smooth, to not let it show. I, on the other hand, was doing my best not to burst out laughing.

You know, I've never been a calculating person who enjoyed annoying others in any way shape or form but, God, this was fun!

"And you _found_ it there."

"Yeah, Spencer I did!" he exploded, throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. "God, what is so fucking confusing about that? I mean-"

"My phone was in my duffle bag."

In an instant, James' face visibly paled and I think he may have stopped breathing. My lips pulled into a victorious smile. Mission accomplished. Who has the upper hand now, you tosser? Spencer. Lockwood. Fuck. Yeah.

James was opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, unable to speak. _Oh how the tables have turned…_

"You're a _lovely_ actor, Mr. Potter." I said sweetly and winked at his horrified expression. "Not to mention a thief as well. Who'd a thunk it?"

Is it sadistic of me that I'm enjoying this? That I find pleasure in making James, not only uncomfortable, but wish he was dead? Absolutely. Am I ashamed? Hell no.

With one last smirk at him, I grabbed the door and slowly shut it in his face. I turned around and leaned my back up against the door, laughing quietly. I couldn't help but be impressed with myself; I have never kept so much composure around anyone of the opposite sex before (family, my mum's boyfriends, and Danny Greco do not count). Ten points for Spencer! Now if everything had gone according to plan, in a few seconds he'd be knocking again in three, two, one:

There was a frantic banging on the door.

Excellent.

I took my time to reopen the door. "Oh, you again?" I asked in mock-surprise.

It all came out in a rush.

"Iwasn'tgoingtokeepyourphoneIswear! 'sall." I don't think he breathed once.

And to be honest, neither did I. That was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me. Completely messed up, but sweet. _I just wanted to see you again._ Those words rang in my ears over and over, becoming imprinted in my mind.

Stealing a phone just to see some girl again. That sounds like the plot of some cheesy romantic comedy from the 90s….

…_I love cheesy romantic comedies from the 90s_.

Somebody please hit me. I think I've finally fallen off of the deep end. I mean, finding this whole situation attractive is absolutely sick and deranged. If Danny had done anything remotely similar to this, I would not only have been super creeped out, but beating the shit out of him. _But this is different,_ I told myself. _This is James_.

I know it shouldn't have made a difference, because stealing is stealing, but it did.

James was breathing hard, weighing my reaction, and he nervously ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. His brown eyes held my blue ones and refused to release them. But that was fine by me; I didn't want to look away. I could gaze into those eyes forever and I would be fully content.

"Make it up to me," I whispered, not trusting my voice.

He seemed surprised by this response and blinked a few times, unsure if he had heard me correctly. "What?"

"Take me someplace and make it up to me," I repeated, this time a little louder. My heart was pounding furiously, afraid of the possible rejection. He _did_ say that he wanted to see me again, didn't he? He'll accept, right?

To my relief his lips curved into a crooked smile and he extended his hand for me to take. I was left breathless.

Without even a moment's thought, I placed my hand in his, feeling the comfort and warmth. I felt myself go on fire and, if I wasn't mistaken, he felt it too. We stared at one another in amazement.

James Potter, where have you been all my life?

I stared lovingly at the half-eaten cotton candy that James bought me, being the perfect gentlemen he is (er, it wasn't half-eaten when he bought it, just to be clear…that'd be gross). He was watching me with an amused expression on his face as we walked hand in hand through the street fair.

I looked up at him (no, seriously, I had to _look up_; the boy towers over me). His grin was contagious so I couldn't help but do so myself. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing, it's just funny how something like cotton candy can make you so excited. It's cute."

Oh my God, he just called me cute. Try. Not. To. Hyperventilate. "Why of course it excites me; this purchase is a rarity, monumental even, as it's not everyday the fair comes to town. And cotton candy, my friend, is the treat of sweet-delicious-goodness."

"True, but it makes your face get all sticky." He reached over and poked my cheek, his finger becoming attached to my skin for a moment's time. We both laughed and I wondered if he felt the same electric sensation that I experienced whenever we made contact with one another. I hoped that he did; it was a strong response, at least for me. Even now, the way that he was willingly holding my hand. That sort of thing never happened to me. Blokes just didn't react to me in that way. For example, when I was twelve, my mum had forced me to participate in the play at the community theatre and the boy who played my love interest seemed utterly repulsed at the idea of having to touch me. It's a good thing we didn't have to snog, otherwise I think I would have died of humiliation from the fit he most likely would have thrown. As you can tell, I've never been popular with the boys. And as stated earlier, going to an all-girls school didn't exactly help the matter.

But don't get me wrong, boys have liked me; mostly the creepy-stalker guys whose life mission is to get laid, but that counts for something right? (It's pathetic, I know, you don't have to tell me it does just to make me feel better). Now, you're probably wondering how I got to be so fortunate as to have all of the Danny Grecos of the world swoon over me. It's because I'm nice to everyone, at least that's my best mate Robyn says. According to her, blokes like Danny Greco target me because I initially went out of my way to be kind to them and all that jazz. Big fat mistake my part, I guess. But it's my cross to bear.

I'm also informed by the oh-so-wise Robyn that the reason I don't have normal guys all over me, is because I'm the kind of girl that you'd have a real serious relationship with and most blokes our age are just looking for the physical stuff. Apparently, I'm the type of girl they want bring home to their parents and marry. I hope that she's right and not just making that up to make me feel better.

I haven't decided yet if it does or not.

James squeezed my hand gently, breaking me away from my thoughts. I looked up at him and smiled at what I saw: messy raven-colored hair, soft brown eyes. He was just so effortlessly handsome. I know I keep mentioning that but it's true! Just taking a quick glance at him would leave me breathless.

"How do people like you stand being so good-looking?" I heard my voice blurt out before my brain could rationalize the statement and stop it. My face became hot with embarrassment instantly. God, Spencer, you just don't say things like that to people! Do you want to create a massive awkward moment? Or to ruin your very high opinion of him by potentially finding out that he's conceded? If the action wasn't so socially unacceptable, I would have banged my head against the wall right then and there. But I decided against it because it would bring a lot of stares and an unwanted suggestion to make a trip to the loony bin.

Things to do when I go home: train myself to learn to think before speaking by slamming my head on my desk repeatedly.

James looked ahead of him briefly and laughed before turning back to face me. "I don't know, you tell me,"

I shook my head and looked ahead of me. We had stopped walking and I had let go of his hand. "You don't mean that." He couldn't have. Me extraordinarily attractive? Nope, absolutely not. He was just trying to be nice and not hurt my feelings. He was probably afraid that I'd make a scene and burst into tears if he didn't tell me I was pretty or something. Which would _not_ happen…I think.

Even though I wasn't facing him to see, I knew he was watching me; I could feel his eyes. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't," he said softly.

I shrugged, not sure what else to do or say. I wasn't sure if I believed him and I didn't want to voice this because I didn't want the topic of our conversation to be focused on my insecurities. I wasn't going to be one of those girls.

Still not looking at him, I felt him grab some of my long, brown, hair and play with it in between his fingers. "You don't see yourself very clearly," he said simply. "And you may not see what I see, but it's definitely there. You'll someday realize that." He let go of my hair and took my hand. "I can't believe that someone can be as beautiful as you and not even realize it."

My jaw dropped and my breath caught. He thought I was beautiful…wow. "Are you being for real?"

James rolled his eyes. "You're hot, Spencer, accept it and move the fuck on."

Charming, isn't he?

I bit my lip and smiled. "Thank you."

He grinned at me and started walking, pulling me along with him. "C'mon, you wanna go on the Ferris Wheel?"

I nodded simply.

I'd go anywhere with you, James Potter.

**A/N: **Here's chapter 3! I hope you liked it; let me know what you thought in a review! :D

~Jess

Disclaimer: I haven't done one of these yet so I probably should. I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. Yeah.


	4. Death by Tickling

My skin is on_ fire._

You know, in my seventeen years I had never been much of an athlete, hence this sudden display of physical excursion leaving me gasping for oxygen, hardly able to breathe. And on top of that, my heart felt like it was literally about to burst. (Is that not healthy?) Who would have thought that you could be thin and still be out of shape? Yeah, I sure as hell didn't. That's a paradox, damn it! Not. Cool. This is going to hurt for a week, _at least_. Boy oh boy, don't I have something _s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d_ to look forward to? (Seriously, look at me, I'm jumping for joy). But despite all of the pain I was enduring now and the soreness I'd be experiencing later, it was so worth it; I was having the time of my life. Why, you ask?

It was eleven-thirty at night and James Potter was chasing me up the stairs to my father's flat.

Now, you're probably wondering what I did in order to deserve such a pursuit. Well my lovelies, let's rewind a little bit, shall we?

James and I had just returned from our outing at the street fair, his arm draped over my shoulders, the two of us laughing much too loudly for the hour. We were both completely hyped up on the sugar we had recently consumed, causing the previous shyness between us to completely dissolve.

We were basically playing twenty questions.

"Your favorite color." I more of demanded rather than asked.

James rolled his eyes. "Oh, c'mon, you can do much better than that; that's such a lame question."

I sighed. I'm not very creative, okay? "Just answer it, Potter."

"Alright, alright. My favorite color's red. Gryffindor red."

I was relatively surprised by his response. I don't know why, but I sort of pinned him for more of a blue or green type of guy…

Wait a minute.

"Gryffindor?" My eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What's that?"

And where have I heard of it before?

James' face paled slightly as if he had revealed something he shouldn't have and he ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair; a habit I noticed he does when he's nervous. "Oh, uh, nothing. Just, uh, just an inside joke I have with my brother."

Uh huh. Sure it is.

I let it slide though.

"Okay, you're turn."

"Uhhhh," Recovering from his earlier slipup, James, rather adorably, scrunched up his face as he stood in deep concentration, contemplating what to ask me next. Just the sight of his expression made me laugh.

"Don't hurt yourself," I cautioned.

He stuck his tongue out at me.

How mature.

"No, seriously, you've done a lot of thinking today and I don't want you to in any way jeopardize your health."

"Piss off." He pretended to look angry at me but the slight curve of his lips gave him away. I laughed and he flicked my shoulder with his fingers in response. "Quit distracting me, I'm trying to think of something good."

James' face went back into its thinking position and I forced myself to look away so I wouldn't laugh. I looked around for something to amuse my wandering mind as I waited but nothing really caught my eye. With nothing to preoccupy my toddler-like intellect, I soon became incredibly bored.

"Sometime today," I said in a singsong voice when he still hadn't come up with anything.

"Patience, woman!"

"What is this _'patience' _in which you speak of?" Seriously, I don't think I have a patient bone in my body.

"Look it up, you could really invest in some."

"Ooo, _burn_."

He ignored my mocking tone which only made me want to talk more.

"C'mon, you're taking too long! It's making me antsy."

"Well," he said rather smugly. "Despite your constant interruptions, I've decided what I'm going to ask you."

"About time_._" I muttered.

"_But_-"

Aw, fuck. There's always a fucking "but."

"You'll just have to wait to find out what it is."

WHAT? YOU CAN'T DO THAT!

"And why is that?" I cried theatrically, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.

James smirked at my obvious frustration. "Builds character."

"Fuck that, I have loads of character."

"Uh huh." He didn't sound like he believed me.

"But I do!" I insisted.

"Whatever you say, Spencer, I'm-"

"JUST TELL ME WHAT THE QUESTION IS!"

"-Sure you do," he finished, just as playfully condescending as the beginning of the statement was. He raised an eyebrow at me and smirked, resulting in a glare from yours truly. My outburst seemed to not only prove his point but amuse him even further.

I folded my arms across my chest. "I swear you get pleasure from this sort of torture."

He smirked mischievously and shrugged. "It's the sadist in me."

"And you know exactly how to wind me up, too."

"Which makes it all the more fun." He grinned, seeming pretty satisfied with himself for getting a reaction out of me.

Don't ask him to tell you, I chanted. Even resist gazing at his boyish good looks if you can help it. Don't ask him. It will only enlarge his big, fat, arrogant head. Don't ask him. He's trying to get a rise out of you and you're making him happy by letting him. Don't ask him. Be strong, Spencer, you can do it. Don't ask him. Just believe in yourself and you will get through this. Don't ask him. Change the subject; it could be about anything. Anything at all. Just as long as you, for the love of God, _don't ask him_.

And you know what? For a moment I actually believed that I could do it; that I could resist asking. But the second I let my guard down, in that moment of weakness when I began contemplating a career as an athletic coach because clearly I was awesome at pep talks, it happened.

I swear my lips had moved on their own accord.

"TELL ME NOW OR DIE!"

He didn't even bat an eyelash at my threat to his life. Was I really that unintimidating?

Instead of shitting his pants in pure terror like he should have been, he was the poster child for nonchalance and composure. Stupid prick. "Now, now," he mocked-scolded me. "Patience Spencer, dear."

He was enjoying this _way_ too much.

Git.

I gritted my teeth. "James, would you just get on with it already; I'm _dying_ here-"

"Are you ticklish?" he asked suddenly.

Cue deer-in-headlights look. My jaw dropped to the floor, my lips forming into a perfect 'O' shape. (Oh, well isn't that just _attractive_?) Shit. Out of all the things he could have asked me, he chose _that_? Shit. Shitshitshitshit_shit_.

Anyone who knows me well could tell you that I'm ticklish to the point that it's pathetic. Like _really_ pathetic. Like, if I were a super hero (I personally consider myself one, but most say it's debatable), tickling would be my weakness, like, my own personal kryptonite. Except it's more like kryptonite on crack. I don't _do_ tickling, okay? It's a well-known fact (and by well-known I mean between myself and Robyn…and Danny, I didn't tell him but knowing him, he probably has it written down in some creepy-stalker-profile he has of me) that there are two potential ways that I am going to die: a. choking on peanut butter or b. being tickled to death.

And you know what? I'm not really itchin' to die tonight. In fact, I'm not really getting the vibe that it's my time to go because seventeen is too young to die I tell you! And yet here I am, about to be killed by a future Calvin Klein model! May I ask again why my life sucks so much? Seriously, at this point it's a joke. A really bad one, in my opinion, but that's just me being bias.

_Don't freak out, Spencer,_ I told myself. _You have time to fix this_. _What ever you do, just_ act natural.

I tried to compose my face to its normal expression and crossed my fingers that he didn't notice the panic that was briefly written all over it.

_But judging by the evil glint in his eyes, I wouldn't really count on it…_

You know what, brain? I'm not appreciating this whole negative thing you've got going on. You're really marshing my mellow. And I have to say, I'm a little hurt; I thought we were friends. I guess I was wrong. Well here's some food for thought: _maybe_ that's just what his face looks like. Ever thought of that? Huh?

Didn't think so.

"Ticklish? Me? No, not at all," I said with a little difficulty. My voice sounded really high-pitched and borderline hysterical. I swallowed, trying to squash the lump that had formed there. I doubted that I sounded very convincing but maybe he would sense my panic and be a perfect gentleman by not acting upon his desire to bring me to an early grave.

Or maybe not.

Before I knew what was happening, his smirk had morphed into a full on beam and he was lunging towards me. I let out a shriek and booked it, my legs moving as fast as they could go up the millions of steps on the stairs, and just barely escaped from his fingers of doom. He darted after me and, being that he was clearly athletic and I was so clearly not, it didn't take him long at all to catch up with me. I felt his arm snake around me and without really thinking it through, I bit down on his hand. He immediately let go of me as if I were on fire and I heard him yelp in pain. But I knew that he was okay (and not at all angry at me or freaked out) because he laughed and said "Oh, you're so on."

"You're gonna have to catch me first," I called behind me.

"Challenge accepted!"

And suddenly, I wasn't panicking over the thought of being tickled anymore; I was actually having fun. We were racing up the steps, tripping each other, and just barely evading the other's grasp. I was smiling so widely that my face started to hurt.

Of course I was also in physical pain from all of the running, but at that moment of time, it didn't really matter. Worrying about that was for another time.

When we made it to my floor, I darted in the direction of the flat entrance and almost made it without incident, when a pair of hands got a good hold on the fabric of my shirt, pulling me back. I shrieked and refused to accept defeat but James was much too strong for me as he pinned me to the wall. It suddenly became apparent that he could have caught me easily this whole time but had been letting me win simply because we were having fun. The thought of that made me smile. James was definitely someone who lived life to the fullest; I gathered that from the hours spent with him that day. And he wasn't afraid of taking chances. It was almost as if nothing could scare him.

I really liked that about him; his sense of adventure.

We stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds, completely consumed in the moment. James' lips curved into a smile as he whispered the words "Gotcha."

I gasped. I'm totally screwed.

Before I even had the chance to fight back, James' fingers were traveling over my abdomen, completely knocking the breath out of me as he tickled me to pieces. I couldn't breathe. My instinct was to laugh but he literally knocked the breath out of me. Instead, desperate gasps were escaping from my mouth. Shortly, my legs turned into jelly and collapsed beneath me. He followed me to the floor and continued to tickle me despite my cries of protest.

"Uncle!" I gasped in defeat. It had taken so much effort to form that single word.

"I'm not your Uncle," he singsonged. Judging from his smirk, he knew exactly what I had meant; he just chose to ignore it.

A laugh escaped from my lips which caused him to grin even more if that were even possible. Clearly, he was enjoying this very much. And as much as I'd hate to admit it, so was I. Yes, as much as I abhor being tickled, I was actually enjoying myself. His long fingers were fast and gentle on my skin, leaving a brilliant sensation in the areas they touched.

And as soon as it began, it was over. Suddenly I could breathe properly again, which I should have been happy about, but my stomach was left cold without the company his hands. I found myself wishing he hadn't stopped.

"I decided to spare you. You should be very happy; I could have gone on forever."

"Lucky me," I breathed, not entirely sure if I meant it. My eyes took in his disheveled hair and plump lips. They both looked so soft; I desperately wished I could press my lips to his and run my fingers through his hair just to find out what they felt like. But I'd never have the courage to do something as spontaneous as that, it was a fact I was well aware of.

"Hey, Spencer," a voice called from down the hall. I groaned audibly (oops) and leaned my head against the wall. I knew that voice. "Is this guy bothering you?"

It took everything in me not to reply _Nope, but you sure are_.

_He's just trying to be nice_, I told myself.

"No, Danny, he's not. Thank you, though." I forced myself to say to the ceiling.

I was hoping that this response would satisfy him and make him leave but of course the universe was against me _yet again_. What else is new?

I guess he wouldn't be Danny Greco if he didn't come closer.

Rolling my eyes, I looked over at James who appeared to be struggling to keep in laughter. Of course something like this would amuse him.

"What's so funny?" I hissed quietly so Danny wouldn't hear as he made his way over.

"This is Boob Guy, isn't it? The one you mistook me for when you yelled at me this morning." This caused him to laugh out loud.

I whacked him on the arm in hope to stifle him. "Shut up." His laugh was rather contagious and I fought to keep my composure. "But to answer your question, yes that's him. Now stop laughing before he hears y-"

I stopped when I realized that Danny was now standing in front of us, his arms crossed, and not pleased with what he saw. I looked up at him and saw that he was resentfully eyeing our close proximity and James' hand resting on my knee. I don't know why but for some reason I hadn't noticed it there before. Now that I did, I couldn't look away.

The sound of Danny's voice saying my name brought my attention back to the real world and forced me to look at him. He didn't return my gaze at first but was instead glaring at James's hand on my knee. Then he finally turned to me. "Are you sure? Cuz I could take care of him if you want. That way we can be alone and I could find out for myself if you're a real brunette." He wagged his eyebrows at me suggestively.

I gaped at him in horror. "You're disgusting."

"Is this guy for real?" James asked me, hitching his thumb in Danny's direction and not even bothering to lower his voice. He didn't even wait for my response before addressing Danny. "That's no way to talk to her." His voice was more serious than I had ever heard it and the expression on his face was foreign to me; anger, disgust, irritation. I was grateful for him coming to my defense; I despised it whenever Danny made sexual innuendos about me. Especially now; I don't know if James' presence had anything to do with it but today Danny's words were particularly inappropriate. It made me want to take three showers, soak my skin in acid for a solid fifteen minutes, disinfect myself with Lysol and then take another shower. That's how grimy he made me feel.

Danny merely brushed off the comment and paid no mind to the death glares he was receiving from the raven-haired boy. "I'll give you ten seconds to get your hand off of my girl and leave. I've got places to go, people to do; namely the lovely Ms. Lockwood."

I clenched my fists. Who the hell does he think he is talking about me like that? I was filled with so much rage that I couldn't even open my mouth to tell him that he could go fuck himself because I would _never_ lay a hand on the likes of him _ever_.

James raised an eyebrow in Danny's direction and stood up to his full height which towered over him by several inches. Danny gulped; I don't think he expected James to be so much bigger than him.

"It would be in your best interest if you stopped talking," James warned in a low voice, his teeth gritted. "I don't know who you think you are but I suggest that you keep your thoughts to yourself. Cuz you are _so_ close to setting me off right now and you don't want that. _Trust me_."

I knew that I shouldn't but I secretly wished that Danny would say something stupid just so that I could watch James beat the shit out of him. That would be really satisfying to witness. And hot. Is that wrong of me?

Don't answer that.

James' expression softened when he looked at me and he extended his hand to help me up which I gladly took. Anything to get away from Danny; the fact that I'd be leaving with James: an added bonus. We were heading towards the direction of my father's flat when we heard Danny's voice call to us from behind.

"Mark my words Spencer. Someday, you're gonna forget all of these toe-rags and you'll realize what you've been missing out on for all these years," Doubt it. "You won't be able to take your hands off me. Won't be long before we pop out a few kids…"

James looked fit for murder at this point but was suddenly distracted by what happened next. I don't know if it was the running on a full stomach finally catching up with me or just the mere thought of procreating with Danny that made me suddenly feel nauseous. All I know is that before I could realize what was happening or even to attempt to stop it, I was doubled over, barfing up all of the contents of my stomach.

Onto James' shoes.

Perfect. Just _perfect_.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review!

~Jess :D


	5. Advice from Robyn the Wise

"_You threw up?"_

"I THREW UP!" I cried as I dramatically collapsed head-first onto Robyn's bed (which is very soft by the way but THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT). I buried my face into her comforter hoping that it would engulf me entirely and rid me of this ridiculously pathetic excuse for a life. Because to be quite frank, I was too embarrassed – nay, too _distraught_ to even _think_ about ever showing my face in public again. Hell, I'll even live with the bloody Mole People if I have to!

I hear they're very nice.

Neither of us spoke; there was absolute silence. Without even having to look at her for conformation, I knew that Robyn was racking her brain for something comforting to say. Anything to make me feel better, to make me feel less tempted to hang myself with Red Rope licorice from the shower rod in her bathroom. To make me not wish that a man decked in all black would just ninja his way into her room, shoving a whole jar's worth of extra-sticky peanut butter down my throat, thus clogging my windpipe and suffocating me to death. To make me not want to sink my fingernails into my eyeballs and then jump out the window. Because that would be just crazy. I mean, I can't even imagine _why_ I would even envision such things; I mean all I did was fucking ralph all over James fucking Potter's converse. No big sodding deal, right?

DO YOU SENSE MY SARCASM?

In other words: my life is over and I'm currently on a suicide watch.

I know what you're thinking; that I'm being a little ridiculous here. You're probably like: _Really, Spencer, really? A ninja that forces peanut butter down people's throats? Well, isn't that just_ realistic_?_ Well, you know what? I know it's not ideal, but it could happen. I'm sure that there are _loads_ of ninjas roaming through London right now just waiting to find the perfect victim to inflict upon their peanut product of doom. And I welcome them with open arms.

And no, I'm not being melodramatic, thank you very much. I'd like to see you empty the contents of your stomach all over a very attractive boy's shoes and see how you feel.

Not too fun now is it? I bet you wish _you_ had a ninja to put you out of your misery now, don't you? Don't you?

Sigh.

Me too.

I thought of all this as Robyn scrambled for something suitable to say to me. But the silence was dragging on for too long; a clear sign that there were no comforting words for my predicament. I had really fucked up this time.

You see, Robyn and I go way back. We were kind of forced together by our dads who used to leave us with one another whenever they'd go to nerd conventions hoping that we'd bond or something. And we did; we were eight at the time and we've been besties ever since even though my attendance to boarding school only allows us to see each other over the summer and winter holidays. And Robyn's always been the more mature and perceptive one between the two of us; she's been giving me advice and getting me out of pickles like this for _years._ Although, if I recall correctly, this is the first time that I've ever barfed on someone, therefore we're in rather uncharted territory. Hence, the prolonged silence.

Finally Robyn cleared her throat. "Okay, so you threw up, it's not _that_ bad," Her inappropriately casual tone caused me to lift my head from her comforter, thus giving her a look that clearly questioned her sanity. She promptly ignored said look (despite its _expert_ execution) and plowed on with whatever crap she had cooked up in order to make me feel better. "I bet loads of people have probably done the same thing, Spence," Oh dear God, this pep talk is even worse than I thought it would be. "I'm sure somewhere in the world, _someone_ is doing the same thing as we speak."

I rolled my eyes at this. "Oh, _bull shit_. If that were even _slightly_ true, the world would be a really fucked up place."

She looked down at her hands in her lap. "Yeah…" See what I mean? My existence is too cruel to endure for long periods of time. I can only handle suckiness in small doses. Very small. And this is massive. Even Robyn-the-Wise thinks so. Which _obviously_ means it's true. _Duh_. Why else would she be called Robyn-the-Wise?

Said smart best friend's eyes suddenly met mine. "Okay, don't get mad at me for asking, _but_-"

My stomach twisted in knots. I didn't really want to talk about it anymore but I knew it was probably best if I just let it all out to someone. And Robyn was the best person for the job. Because she's wise. Have I mentioned that? "What?"

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. "How did James react when you…you know? Puked on his shoes?"

I winced and rolled over onto my back, blowing at the hair that had fallen into my eyes. "Mixed emotions, I guess. I can't really think of any other way to describe it. I mean, when it first happened, he seemed really…torn. Like part of him wanted to be really grossed out and disgusted but at the same time he also didn't want to make me feel even worse than I already did, you know? So then he got really awkward and started making really bad jokes and nervously running his fingers through his hair because he didn't know what else to do. It was painfully awkward, Robyn, just _awful_." I rolled my head to the side to pleadingly look Robyn, who was sitting on the floor, in the eyes. I was ichin' for some sympathy.

"Well, at least he was nice about it," she suggested as if it made the situation any better. WHICH IT DIDN'T. "If you think about it, he could have been a real git and flipped out on you."

"Yeah, he was nice and all, but he was really grossed out; I could totally tell." I threw my hands up in the air in frustration. "Even Danny was disgusted! _Danny_! Of all people, Danny! My own _stalker_ didn't even want me."

Robyn snorted. "Really? That's kind of surprising, actually. I thought that he would have at least collected a sample or something-"

"Oi! Not helping Robyn."

"Sorry."

I'm starting to question the credibility of her wiseness. Is that even a real word?

But deadass mofos; last night was the _worst_ night ever. After I did the walk of shame to my father's flat, I was greeted by the man himself who was rather cheesed at me. Apparently I had forgotten about our little ice cream date…whoops. He ranted for, like, ten billion hours until I was so fed up that I pretty much shouted "Well if it makes you feel any better, old man, my date sucked, okay? I threw up on his shoes!" At first he didn't say anything; his eyes probed my face to see if there was any truth to my words. Once he realized that I was dead serious, he _laughed_. The little twat actually fucking laughed at me. Can you comprehend how bloody huge and insanely pathetic that is my part? You don't? Let me put it this way: I WAS LAUGHED AT BY A GROWN MAN WHO DRESSES UP AS CAPTAIN HOOK FOR HALLOWEEN EVERY YEAR.

As you can see, 'twas not my best moment. I've come to realize what rock bottom feels like. Not a fun place, my friends, not fun at all.

"So," Robyn said in a rather upbeat voice as she stood up from her position on the floor. "What are you going to do when he stops by again?"

I gaped at her, standing up as well. "Are you mental, woman? He's not gonna want to see me-"

"Why not?" She held up her hand to stop the retort that was forming on my lips. "From what you've told me, you both had a great time last night…before you threw up, that is."

I put on my thinking face and stared at Robyn's purple walls as if the answer to her question was embedded in the paint. What _would_ I do if he came to see me? I mean, I doubted that he would; it would certainly be a miracle if he did. And I mean a major one; like a water-to-wine type miracle.

"Well, if he does show up at my door, and I totally mean this in a hypothetical-type situation because he is most certainly _not_," I began, bringing my attention back to the brunette standing before me. "I will not be there to see because I will be at my mother's house before my presence is due by the request I will soon propose to my dad."

"So you're gonna run away," she stated flatly.

I thought about it for a minute. "Yep. Pretty much."

She rolled her eyes at me and crossed her arms. "Spencer, you can't do that-"

"I _can_ and I _will_!" I declared, thrusting my fist into the air.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Do you hear yourself speaking? You sound like a-"

But I didn't get to hear the rest because I stuck my fingers in my ears and started wandering aimlessly around the room like the five year old I truly am. "_Lalalala I'm not listening_."

"Spencer _come on_-"

"_Lalalala_."

"You're being really immature-"

"_Lalalalala_."

"Would you _stop_ that-?"

"LALALALALALA!"

Still pacing the room, my childish antics were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a ferocious (and wonderfully executed) warrior cry generating from the other side of the room. Rather startled and impressed, I turned just in time to see Robyn lunge in my direction and tackle me to the ground, me shrieking all the way down. We kind of fell in, like, slow motion; the room unexpectedly held still as we flew downwards through the air. Robyn's eyes were all wide and twitchy and all around bugging out on me which was really freaky but totally added to the dramatics of the slow motion. I have to admit, it was a really nice touch. And then out of nowhere (and to my disappointment) time sped up again and I landed hard on my back with a loud "Oomph." Instantly there was a lot of hair pulling and struggling between the two of us (I even bit her hand which earned me a whack on the head) until my arms were neatly pinned to my sides. I was never known for my strength.

"Ow, Robyn," I whined. "What the fuck?"

"Listen, Up-Chuck," Robyn snapped, her voice fiercer than I had ever heard it. "You are gonna grow a pair of fucking balls, quit feeling sorry for yourself, and march your fucking stubborn arse back to your dad's place when you leave here. And you're gonna fucking _stay_ there until James whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is comes knocking on your fucking door begging to bloody take you out again. Because he fucking will. Otherwise he's just a fucking stuck-up fuckwit who you shouldn't have even wasted your fucking time on in the fucking first place! You fucking got it?"

I stared at her in complete shock, my jaw dropped, absolutely stunned into silence. After about three minutes I finally found my voice and cleared my throat. "Did you just call me 'Up-Chuck'?"

Robyn let out a groan of frustration. "Were you even _listening_ to anything I just said-?"

"And how many times did you say various forms of 'fuck?' I mean, there had to be _at least_ ten; I have to say, it was rather impressive."

Robyn grinned, instantly distracted. "Thank you! I-" Her eyes suddenly darkened. "Oi! Quit sidetracking me! You're _completely missing the bloody point here! _Were you or were you not listening?"

"Oi! I was listening! I'm not a complete idiot you know!" I retorted, rather offended. Summoning up strength that I didn't know I possessed (because frankly, I am a bleeding wimp), I wiggled out of Robyn's vice grip and shoved her off of me.

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist. I know you're not an idiot," she said, holding her hands up. "Since you were in fact listening to me and not just mesmerized by my excessive swearing, you will think about and _consider_ what I said."

In all honesty, I _had_ been listening and I thought about what she had said. And she was right; she really _was_ wise. Like she said, running away wouldn't solve anything and if he doesn't come, then oh well; his loss. Because I _ooze_ out awesome…never mind, that actually sounds really gross. Anyway, if he does come, then that just proves that he's a decent bloke and that we can put this whole mishap behind us. If it's meant to be, everything will work itself out.

Which is why, my friends, I found myself later that day standing at the end of my mother's driveway waving farewell to my male parental unit.

Robyn is gonna kick my arse when she finds out.

Surprisingly, my dad didn't really have much of a problem with me leaving early; actually he seemed pretty jazzed about the whole thing. You see, to my most displeasure, I had been given specific instructions to report back to him with any information on my mum's new bloke that I just so happen to "stumble upon." Since the manfriend's identity was being craftily concealed from the psychopath (with good reason I'd like to add), he couldn't stalk the guy properly via the internet therefore the creeping job was passed along to me. Do you see what I have been reduced to? Stalking a most likely harmless bloke for my dad's own personal gain! It just feels so wrong to partake in such sketchy extracurricular activities. And with my dad's parting words of "Make me proud," he made this shit sound like it was some sort of family business. Which I wasn't comfortable with. At all. In all honesty, I do not aspire to be a professional stalker. Besides, I think that job description would include the mandatory requirement of having a facebook and I would _never_ stoop so low.

Anyway, my mum wasn't exactly expecting my arrival until later that night but I knew she wouldn't mind if I came early. I just needed to get out of my dad's place and far, far away from Danny and any unwanted visitors; particularly one whose first name begins with a "J" and last with a "P" and rhymes with Zames Yotter. (Yeah, I decided a few hours ago that his name must not be spoken; I know what you're thinking: I'm mad cool.)

So after my dad was well on his way, I skipped my way up the driveway and little stone path that led to the red front door. I was minding my own business, innocently humming the tune of an Iggy Pop and the Stooges song when I clasped the doorknob and let myself inside. After taking my shoes off, a rule of my mother's, I made my way down the hallway and into the living room-the area where she was most likely to be found.

"Hey, mum, sorry I came a little early but figured you wouldn't mi-" I stopped dead in my tracks. I froze. My mum froze. The barely dressed bloke she was heavy snogging in her lacey bra and scanty knickers froze.

My face instantly burned tomato red due to my mortification at such a sight and I even think my heart stopped beating all together. This is what a cardiac arrest feels like, isn't it? A scarring event indeed! I mean, did I seriously just walk in on my mum and some bloke on the verge of shagging? Only me; this would only happen to me. Wanna trade lives? If not, I'm contemplating selling it on the black market; some poor, unsuspecting idiot's bound to buy it at some point.

The silence was painfully uncomfortable and I was hoping that someone would kindly break it, but instead the three of us stared at one another, jaws dropped, completely unsure of what to do.

Well isn't this just awkward?

Every fiber of my being told me to back out of the room and run up the stairs to my room, leaving them to continue what I had obviously interrupted. But I couldn't move. I just couldn't. I was paralyzed and my eyes were glued to my mum's shag buddy.

From his tanned skin to his black hair (which strangely reminded me of a tamer version of Zames Yotter) and defined abs, the bloke was insanely _fit_.

But that wasn't the (main) cause for my staring. The bloke on the sofa with my mum, clad in only boxers, had to be no more than twenty years old. Twenty. Years. Old. And he was on the _sofa_, with my _mum_, wearing nothing but his _boxers_.

And I had just witnessed him eating my mum's face off. Ew. Would someone like to gauge my eyes out with a spoon for me or should I do the honors?

Am I the only person who sees something wrong with this image? I mean, not only is that practically pedophiliac behavior, but my _mum_ who's in her early _forties_ has more game than I do! When _she's_ with a gorgy guy, she _shags_ him. When _I'm_ with a gorgy guy, I _heave _on his shoes. What the _fuck_? I have, like, the sex appeal of a dirty tissue and here she is, sleeping around with young men twenty years her junior! Not. Fair.

And speaking of his age, no wonder my mum didn't tag him in her relationship status on facebook; he doesn't _have_ a facebook. He, like me, was not part of that generation.

Daddy is not going to be happy when he hears about this.

My mother was comically opening and closing her mouth, oddly resembling a fish and I waited patiently for her to get the courage to say something, thus breaking the silence that fallen upon us. I mean, _I_ certainly wasn't going to. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the expression of Mr. Super-Mega-Foxy-Hunk-of-a-Man-Sex-God; he was clearly amused by the situation at hand. _Hmm, inappropriately amused by others' discomfort…who does that remind you of?_

NO! Must. Not. Think. Of. ZAMES. YOTTER. RESIST, SPENCER, RESIST I TELL YOU!

My mini internal battle was soon interrupted by the sound of my mum's noticeably mortified and flustered voice. "Spencer, dear, I wasn't expecting you until later…" _Clearly_. Silence ensued once more as she struggled to find something suitable to fill it with. "…This-this is Freddy. Freddy Weasley."

My eyes immediately darted to _Freddy_ who nodded his head towards me in a way I assumed he thought to be attractive. "Sup."

I raised an eyebrow. Really? That's how you address me? _Sup?_ What the hell are you? A fucking American Frat Boy? "Hi," I hesitated, still taken aback and rather unimpressed by his greeting. "…Freddy." I popped my lips together. "I think I'm going to go upstairs now…bye."

I grabbed my luggage by the handle and turned on my heels to make my way over to the stairs. My mum called out after me from behind. "Are you hungry for dinner, Spencer?"

"Not anymore I'm not." I didn't even turn to look at her when I spoke; I simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other and making slow progress up the steps. When I finally reached the top, I heard the deep voice of the one they call Freddy speak to my mother. "Your daughter's pretty hot."

Well isn't he just a keeper?

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I don't own anything you recognize (unfortunately). Sorry there wasn't any Zames/Spencer moments in this chapter but I hoped you liked it regardless! What did you think of Robyn-the-Wise? Freddy/Spencer's Mom? Let me know in a review please; I love reading them!

~Jess :D


	6. Crazy Bint

The morning after my virgin eyes were scarred, I found myself sitting rather awkwardly at the kitchen table eating my Lucky Charms with a half-naked Freddy Weasley opposite me. Luckily for me (pun intended), aside from a salute in my general direction, he didn't really acknowledge my presence; he was intently studying the back of the cereal box - which I cursed him internally for getting a hold of before me.

Begin rant in 3, 2, 1:

Seriously, what else was I supposed to do with myself while I ate? There weren't many ceiling corners in the room to count and tallying the number of tiles on the floor would take too long. Due to this, I was left without _anything_ to fixate on and this _infuriated_ me. He thinks that he can just _waltz_ into _my_ part-time house and take the box of the sugary cereal _my_ mum purchased for _me_ and everything would be just peachy keen? Well, peachy keen, it is _not!_ Didn't he know that playing and solving the games and puzzles conveniently presented before me on the object that contained my meal is my morning ritual and without it, I am left thoroughly bored and restless? I mean, it's not everyday that my mum goes out of her way to purchase me such delicacies as a sugary cereal in the likeness of Lucky Charms (which actually _have_ games on the back unlike that healthy shit she usually buys). And here Freddy is; not even a regular member of this household and already hogging up the cereal box like he owns the place! I mean, the _audacity_ of some people!

End rant.

Taking deep yoga/jedi/ninja breaths, I began counting backwards from ten in hopes that I would calm down to the point that I would not feel the need to state my rant aloud and scare the bejesus out of Freddy. Mission "Calm Spencer" accomplished and complete, I did not know what else to do with myself so I scanned the room while I chewed, trying to look anywhere but Freddy's exposed torso and praying that he wouldn't attempt to start a conversation with me. I mean, what do you say to someone who could have been a former primary school classmate of yours and is now shagging your mum? The answer to that, my friends, is nothing. Absolutely nothing. You just sit quietly and avoid all possibilities of eye contact. It is the only way.

This plan of action, although brilliant, did not last very long. As the minutes passed, I became increasingly bored and aggravated that I didn't have anything to preoccupy me. I knew that it probably was in my (and the boy sitting before me's) best interest to start doing my breathing exercises again but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. So I let out a loud sigh in frustration, dropping my spoon noisily into my bowl with a _clang_, and brought my attention to the bloke in front of me.

"Are you done with that yet?" I demanded crossly. I didn't mean for the words to come out so hostile but my impatience was getting the best of me.

Freddy peaked over the top of the cereal box in order to look me properly in the eyes. "Done with what?"

My eyes narrowed into slits. "Done with reading the back of the box, you dumb twit! You're not the only one that enjoys a good morning crossword puzzle or maze that leads to a pot of gold, you arsehole! _I cannot function without my daily dose of ginger leprechaun!_"

…

I honestly do not have a good reason behind this sudden outburst; it came out of nowhere and made no sense even to _me_. I don't even eat Lucky Charms for breakfast every morning! But it was too late to back down; I was already committed. So what if my mum's boyfriend/shag-buddy thought that I was psychotic? It's not like he and my mum will last and I'll have to see him again once they enviably break up. (Because they _will_. Because being in a "relationship" with a bloke that much younger than you is creepy and gross and makes me want to rip off my skin. I have an issue with this association? What gave you that idea?)

Freddy and I continued to stare at one another; the look on his face was one of complete shock, confusion, and alarm. Yep, he definitely thought I was crazy. Freddy then, without breaking eye contact with me, flipped the cereal box around so the back cover was facing in my direction. Then, rather gingerly, he pushed the box forward with his index finger until the box was resting in front of me.

"Satisfied?" he asked carefully, most likely hoping not to set me off again.

"Exceptionally."

Okay, so I kind of, sort of, maybe lied _a little bit_ when I said that. Alright so that's a lie too; I, like, _really_ lied when I said that I was "exceptionally" satisfied. (What kind of fruit says "exceptionally" anyway?) Truth was, I didn't feel the slightest bit satisfied. At all. To be totally honest, I just felt ridiculous and kind of embarrassed at my impulsive, childish antics. I mean, at this point in my life, I _have_ made the realization that I have the patience and attention span of five year old but must I act like one?

If there isn't a God and Freddy and my mum somehow last, I'll never be able to live this down.

I ducked my head behind the cereal box in attempt to hide my burning cheeks and avoid the eye contact that was growing more uncomfortable with each passing second. God, I'm such an _idiot_. How many more fucking stupid things do I have to do in order to learn my lesson?

Now having the Lucky Charms in my possession, I scanned the colorful cardboard for an activity that interested me and would preoccupy my mind for the time being. But I didn't get very far because I heard a soft murmur come from Freddy's direction that sounded something along the lines of "Crazy bint."

Immediately I snapped my head up and smacked the box down, causing its contents of bland cereal mixed with the delicious sugar marshmallows (that made consumption worthwhile) to spill out on the table. The glare that followed could have burned holes into his skin. I knew that this probably wasn't helping my No-Really-I'm-Not-Crazy-Just-A-Little-Bit-Odd Case but his comment, no matter how small, erupted something in me. _He_ was the one who was sleeping with a woman twice his age; who was he to judge _me?_

"_What_ did you call me?" My voice was low and dangerous, my words articulate and crisp. If I wasn't so angry, I probably would have been really excited by the dramatics it added to the situation.

But, alas, I was ready to spit _fire_.

Unfortunately, it became very clear to me that I'm not as intimidating as I'd like to think because Freddy, neither impressed nor scared by my tone, leaned forward, speaking slowly and articulately. "_Crazy_. _Bint_."

My eyes narrowed. "Take it back,"

"No." His expression mirrored mine as he returned my glare.

My teeth gritted together and my blood seethed due to the infuriating boy before me. "I _said:_ Take. It. Ba_ck_."

Freddy smirked; both taunting and challenging me. "Make me."

"I will," I promised.

"You don't have the balls to do anything," he said, brushing off my words as nonsense.

"Sure I do, arse-munch." I know that in the eyes of a well-built bloke, I didn't look like much, as I lacked in the muscle department, but I meant business. I wasn't going down without a fight; I was perfectly willing to pinch, bite, and scratch my way to victory.

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows and looking me once over. "You seem more like a Hufflepuff to me than a Gryffindor."

"I don't know what the _fuck_ that even _means_, but you are sure as hell going to take back what you said."

"Like I said, _make me_."

"And like _I_ said, _I will_."

"Then do it."

"Okay."

"What are you waiting for?"

"I'm gonna do it."

"Alright then, you do that."

"Yep."

We sat there silently for a moment just staring into one another's eyes as if the mere action would cause the other to burst into flames. Suddenly, without even thinking about it (because otherwise I would have registered the ridiculousness of the action), I threw myself across the table and at Freddy, knocking his chair over and sending the two of us to the floor.

"_Take it back!"_ I screeched as I proceeded to slap him about the head and chest.

"Violence!" Freddy screamed as he put his hands up to shield his face; laughing as he did so.

Another clear example of how I'm not as intimidating as I'd like to think I am.

It really shouldn't come to me as a surprise, though; I _am_ only five feet tall and one hundred pounds after all. What else would I expect? Cowering to my powerful fits of rage? Girlish screams and desperate begging for mercy? Yeah, times like these really emphasize the fact that there are some drawbacks to being small.

However, I didn't allow his lack of frightened response to my weak blows to discourage me and continued my aggression, muttering things like "Stupid dumb fuck," and "Manwhore," under my breath.

I suppose that my ranting mixed in with Freddy's hysterical laughter created enough commotion to efficiently block out the sound of my mum descending down the stairs and entering the kitchen. Her presence wasn't known until she addressed the both of us.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

I immediately froze, looking up sheepishly at mum who was standing with her hands on her hips in the doorway and then back down at myself and Freddy on the floor.

Oh, wow, would you look at that; I'm straddling him.

Ten minutes later I was sitting sulkily on the couch in the living room having been banned from the kitchen for "attacking" Freddy. Honestly, I don't think that it's even physically possible for me to possess the power to have actually _harmed_ him in any way and even dumb fuck Freddy fought in my defense, saying that we were only playing around. Apparently he and I are friends now. I wasn't aware of or a part of the making of this decision but, again, apparently we are. I do not know how I feel about that.

Regardless of this newfound camaraderie, my mum was not pleased with me. I have to remind myself to not be discovered in particularly compromising positions with my mum's boy toys in the future; it'll save me a whole lot of trouble.

Suddenly hitting me that I was sitting upon the very sofa I found my mum and Freddy fornicating on the previous evening, I swiftly relocated myself to the leather chair across the room. Shuddering in horror as I settled my bum into the seat, I was instantly consumed by its godly squishiness and it didn't take long for me to get comfy. My mind instantly veered from angry cougar mothers and annoying, though nicely tanned and built, blokes, thus clearing itself and sweeping a sense of tranquility over me.

And despite just coming off a whole eight hours worth of sleep, my eyes soon began to droop and I freely allowed unconsciousness to overpower me…

Falling into a rather foggy and vague dream, I looked around curiously at my faint surroundings which instantaneously became apparent to me as I took in the familiar hustle and bustle of the people around me. Wonderland.

Animated conversations buzzed all around me, sounding rather ghostly and distant to my ears as I was able to catch a few tail ends of muffled discussions that were recognizable to me. I had heard them already at my first visit.

One exchange spoke to me in particular:

"…_Yeah, well Gryffindor may have won the Quidditch House Cup this year but once we get rid of that bloody Parkinson as captain, Slytherin's gonna take the trophy…"_

Gryffindor.

The scene at the platform immediately blurred, morphing the images and colors of my surroundings together before assembling itself into another memory before me.

"_Your favorite color." I more of demanded rather than asked._

_James rolled his eyes. "Oh, c'mon, you can do much better than that; that's such a lame question."_

_I sighed. I'm not very creative, okay? "Just answer it, Potter."_

"_Alright, alright. My favorite color's red. Gryffindor red."_

Gryffindor red. His favorite color was _Gryffindor_ red.

"_Gryffindor?" My eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What's that?"_

"_Oh, uh, nothing. Just, uh, just an inside joke I have with my brother."_

The scene shifted once again to earlier that morning in the kitchen with Freddy.

"_Oh, yeah?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows and looking me once over. "You seem more like a Hufflepuff to me than a Gryffindor."_

Again. That word: Gryffindor.

Three times. I had heard that word before _three times_. And it wasn't your everyday word; one that was able to weasel itself into daily conversation. No, it was obscure and meaningless to the likes of me. I had gone through seventeen years of my life never coming across it before and then I hear _three times_ in the span of just a few days. The first time was supposed to be a dream. The second time was supposed to be an inside joke between two brothers. The third time was supposed to be a jab at my courage.

Gryffindor.

Evidently it was none of those things.

This all meant something; I just wasn't sure what. Now that I had pieced everything together, I was left with an image that didn't make sense. I had found the clues to the mystery, but had no idea what to do with what I had uncovered.

Gryffindor.

Wonderland was real; I knew that much. James had lied to me. And I wasn't sure why.

I started to wonder about the secret platform. Who were all of those people? Why did they feel the need to conceal themselves from the public? How was I able to enter when I was clearly not a part of this strange world? And where did James and Freddy fit into all of this?

Gryffindor.

He had lied to me.

Why?

The dream was over. _This_ was reality. There was no beautiful boy here to befuddle my thoughts with a stolen phone or bullshit story of a forgotten train ride together to King's Cross station. No. There was something weird going on between platforms nine and ten.

And I was gonna find out what it is.

Suddenly awakening from my slumber with a jerk, I looked around the room to find myself in the armchair of the living room. It was as if I had woken up from a nightmare; my breathing was heavy and ragged, my body hot and sweaty. But I wasn't afraid; I was far from it. In actuality, I was fascinated and perplexed amongst other things. There was a reason I referred to this place as Wonderland. I thought it was the most amazing place; all around curious and just…_wonderful_. Every time I thought about it, I found myself wanting to be a part of it. All of it.

Dream still fresh on my mind, I wondered why James had desperately wanted me to believe that we had met on the train rather than on this secret platform between nine and ten. And for a while, I had actually believed him. I had gotten so caught up in the idea that someone like James would want to see someone like me again, that I had completely disregarded the fact that I had no memory of our supposed meeting on the train to King's Cross station. All I had to work with was an odd encounter that logically couldn't have occurred. But it did. It was no dream. What is was, though, I had no clue.

I _needed_ to get to the bottom of all this; to find out what really happened that day I met James Potter. Not those lies that were fed to me. I wasn't exactly upset with him for lying to me – I really didn't care. I just had to find out the truth.

With the intension of temporarily tucking away all thoughts of my epiphany, for lack of a better word, I rose from my seat in the living room and headed upstairs. Once on the second floor, I made my way to the small bathroom connected to my bedroom to splash some water on my heated face; I seriously needed to clear my mind and think about all of this later, some other time.

However, just as I was about to turn the faucet on, something about my reflection in the mirror caught my eye causing me to freeze in horror.

You have _got_ to be kidding me.

On my forehead, a phrase was written in a very clear and neat fashion; the letters large, black, and in all-caps.

TNIB YZARC

I squinted at it for a moment trying to rearrange the letters in my mind that appeared backwards to me to figure out the obvious message Freddy was attempting to convey to me. (Because my mum _clearly_ didn't write it). Suddenly it hit me.

CRAZY BINT

I couldn't believe it; he had actually written CRAZY BINT on my forehead. So much for the two of us being _friends_.

I gaped at the writing in absolute horror. I swear on kittens, chocolate, seashells, and Lucky Charms that I, Spencer Olive Lockwood am going to _murder_ that boy. And it is going to be long, drawn out, and _painful_. He will be _begging_ for mercy but there is no room for such luxuries in his upcoming death.

This _better_ not have been written in Sharpie…

Desperately rubbing my forehead with two fingers that I drenched in warm water, the answer soon became very clear.

Yep, that's definitely permanent ink.

…

Is it just me or was I just branded by my mum's twenty year old boyfriend?

**A/N:** Hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Sorry this update was a bit later than usual but it's here now! Please review :)

~Jess


	7. 2 Hours 17 Minutes And 48 Seconds

Two hours. Seventeen minutes. And forty-eight seconds. That is the measured length of time I spent in the bathroom scrubbing my skin raw to attempt (_attempt_ being the key word) to remove the scrawl that had vandalized my forehead.

Two hours. Seventeen minutes. And forty-eight seconds.

And it was still bloody there.

Yes, that is correct. After two hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-eight seconds of hard labor, a faint outline of the phrase CRAZY BINT still remained on my forehead. But after two hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-eight seconds of non-stop scrubbing, faint outlines were good enough for me, as the foul inscription would have to come off _eventually_. And if _eventually_ turned into _never_, well, Freddy Weasley might need a new pair of balls. Actually, as the thought came to mind, this disablement was becoming more and more tempting, because along with sporting such a _wonderful_ adjective and noun usage to describe the likes of me, I was now the proud new owner of a red forehead. A brilliant start to what had already been a _thrilling_ day, if I do say so myself.

I suppose this is God's way of punishing me for running away.

I haven't decided yet whether or not I deserved it.

Warranted or not I was pissed. And I mean _pissed_. Which I think is pretty understandable. I mean, I looked like a complete and total fucktard and it was all dumb fuck Freddy's fault. And I didn't even get to have the satisfaction of kicking his arse for it because the stupid bloke left to spend the day with his cousin who, if there was anything in genetics, was probably just as stupid as him.

And to think, this all occurred because he got a hold of the Lucky Charms box before me.

My existence is pretty pathetic.

Rubbing what were supposed to be soothing circles into my aching and peeved head, I made my way to my bedroom with my eyes closed, humming softly to myself. After walking into several walls and doorframes, I officially swore off walking around my house blindly and finally made it into my destination. I opened my eyes and smiled. Lounging on the hardwood floors of the room was my kitty-cat, Chester; just the sight of him caused my mood to brighten instantly.

"Hey there, hot stuff!" I greeted excitedly as I got down on the floor to lie down next to him. Nuzzling my face into his fur, I wrapped my arms around my furry ball of awesome and squeezed him gently, causing him to growl in my ear. You see, Chester doesn't exactly _like_ me but I like to pretend that PDA just makes him nervous and that we're actually the best of friends. It makes me feel better.

So, despite his many protests, my grip my cat did not falter, and I soon launched into a huge venting session of the events of recent days. Like several other occasions, Chester silently glared at the ceiling as I ranted, waiting patiently for me to finish and finally release him.

And I know what you're thinking: _Wow, you talk to your cat? That's not _weird_ or anything_. And my answer to that is: yes, I do converse and have in depth discussions with my cat regularly, thank you very much. You see, my cat, Chester, is cooler than your cat. He is cuter than your cat. He is more badass than your cat. And to top it off, you wish that you could trade your piece of shit cat for the glorious being that is my cat.

He is just _that_ amazing.

Now, I realize that Chester, remarkable as he may be, cannot understand a single word of my ramblings, but when has something like a language barrier ever stopped me? No, he must sit through these venting sessions whether he understands/cares or _not_ because he is my cat and that is his cross to bear.

Frankly, I don't even know why he hangs out in my room anymore; it would be so much easier for him to avoid me if he didn't spend time in my habitat.

I bet you one _million_ pounds that if I could read his thoughts every time I entered the room, it would go something along the lines of: _"Oh God, it's_ her_."_

Good thing he's fat as fuck and can't outrun me.

After my very heartfelt rant on the woe that is my life was at last completed, I gazed into the very blue eyes of the one they call Chester. They were just so mystical and…blue. I could stare into them all day; I really could. I'm telling you, just one look into those exquisite eyes and you become complete mush and suddenly life doesn't suck so much. Everyday is Free Balloon Day. Coupons for TV Dinners grow on trees. Girls don't throw up on the boy they like's shoes. Mums don't shag blokes who are twenty years their junior. Said bloke does not deface your forehead. People shit out rainbows. It's really great, it really is.

And I got this warm fuzzy feeling in my gut. His mere existence just made me so happy. It was at that moment that I knew that there was no one on this entire planet who I loved more than that little bugger. Who cares if he hates me? Who cares if he's staring at my neck, probably contemplating how much trouble he'll get into with my mum if he just goes for my jugular? The fact of the matter is, is that I _love_ him. And there is _nothing_ that he can do about it.

So suck on that, Chester.

I suppose that once I had finally shut my trap, Chester thought that his presence in my company was no longer required but this was false, as I wanted to have some more non-consensual cuddling time with him. But Chester would have none of this. He squirmed around a bit in my arms and 'meowed' in a tone that sounded something like _"Get the fuck off me bitch,"_ but I didn't release him until the psycho finally sunk his teeth into my skin as a last resort.

Once Chester had made his great escape, I was left alone in my room with indentations of kitty teeth on a wounded arm. Alone. On a Friday. How _rich_.

Needing to get out and blow off some steam, I walked over to the little record store near my mum's house that I usually went to when I was lonely with nothing better to do. The owner knew me pretty well, so as you can probably already tell, I went there a lot.

You see, I didn't have that many friends at my mum's. I mean, I grew up in that house before the divorce and had a lot of mates when I lived there but things changed once everything got messy between mummy and daddy. She got the house. Custody of me was equally shared. I lived in two different locations. When I got older, I went away for school. I changed. The girls in my neighborhood changed. We drifted apart. The most we did now was an awkward wave or smile when we passed one another on the street and strained conversations at neighborhood parties. At my dad's, I had Robyn. At my mum's, I had no one.

So I went to the record store. And I passed the hours alphabetizing the records. The owner, Mr. Carlson, hated me for it; he insisted on organizing them by year of release but I argued that his shop was a ghost town because not only were record players nearly extinct, but nobody could find what the fuck they were looking for. It's 2022; nobody remembers what year _Far Side of the Moon_ came out in anymore.

So alphabetized them. And then he fixed them. And then I did it again. It's a vicious cycle that I will repeat until it finally gets old. My mother insisted that I stop goading the 'poor old man,' but it was too late; I was already in too deep. You see, people like Mr. Carlson need an annoying teenager to bother them; gives them something to do. I mean, he didn't get many customers, so how else was he going to spend his day? He needed my company as much as I needed his. It's pathetic and sad, but it's also true.

"Spencer, I swear to _God_, if you come in here and alphabetize those goddamn records _one more time_…" was how I was greeted when I stepped into the store.

I put on my brightest smile that was reserved especially for him. "Why, good day to you too, kind sir. How's the wifey, Mr. Carlson?"

Mr. Carlson sighed heavily, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean it, kid: you'll be the death of me."

I strolled over to the cash register he was standing behind and sat on the counter solely for the reason that he hated when I did it. This earned me a scowl. "Oh, don't say that, Mr. Carlson. We've been becoming the best of friends."

He threw a fiercer glare in my direction and after about a minute, sighed in defeat at the realization that I wasn't leaving. "You can start in the 1970s; I have an easier time fixing up those for some reason after you've screwed them up."

"I'm on it," I said, pushing myself off the counter and onto my feet. After a salute in the grimacing Mr. Carlson's direction, I sprinted over to the section labeled "70s Rock" to begin my work.

"Oh, and Spencer?"

I stopped and pivoted so I could look at him directly. "Yes, Mr. Carlson?"

"Nice forehead," he snickered.

Damn. I had forgotten about that. Forcing a smile, I replied: "Why thank you, Mr. Carlson. Always the charmer."

With a mental reminder to myself to knock Freddy's teeth out the next time I saw him, I continued my journey to the records and pulled out the first one. Paul McCartney: _McCartney_. I turned the album over in my hands and examined the cover, my eyes glued to the scruffy, dark haired man's face.

"Paul, you hot sonofabitch," I muttered, low enough so that Mr. Carlson couldn't hear.

I stared at the cover lovingly for a solid three and a half minutes (who cares if the bloke's ancient now, back then he was _fit_) before I continued with my alphabetizing. After about a half hour, I had a good portion of the records in an order that fit my standards and was to my liking. 1970-1974 already done and over with, I had moved onto 1975 and came across Fleetwood Mac's eponymous album.

"Great album," I murmured to myself, scanning the track listing on the back cover and nodding in approval at the titles. _Rhiannon_, _Landslide_, just some really solid and great songs. I didn't have a talented bone in my body, but I sure as hell got a kick out of good music; it just killed me. Nothing like laying on my floor listening to a montage of songs that just _spoke_ to me, you know? I'd give anything to have even an ounce of talent, though. I sometimes thought that if maybe I was good, I would be a musically inclined individual in the next life.

Or maybe I'd be completely and totally screwed over and be the tone-deaf nitwit I am today.

Mildly depressed by the idea that I'd never get to be a rockstar, I put the record in its rightful place with the 'F's and without even really thinking about it, glanced up at the shop window.

I ended up doing a double take.

Strolling down the street, just _happening_ to be passing by the record store, was none other than _James Potter_. And he was with, guess who, Freddy Weasley. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I just couldn't believe it. He was _right there_. And he was with that _fucktard_. _Unbelievable. _I was just about to run over to the window and press my face against the glass, watching the pair in amazement, when I remembered that I had dignity. Not a lot of it, but it was still there.

But obviously I didn't have enough, which was evident by my next move.

Not giving the slightest flying fuck that I wasn't finished alphabetizing, I dashed out of the shop without a single word to the rather bemused-and let's be honest-delighted Mr. Carlson.

When I got outside, I was immediately hit by the heat radiating off the blazing sun, my skin warming instantly from not only that, but nerves. My heart was racing in my chest; I could hear its heavy pounding in my ears and I was almost certain that the people surrounding me could hear it too. He was so close and my body ached to just run over and throw my arms around his neck and jump on him back, but I wouldn't risk approaching him. No, not after what had happened, not after how I humiliated myself last time.

So instead, I did the most Danny Greco-esque thing I've ever done in my entire life: I swiped today's paper out of the hands of the nearest person, ignoring their hollers and protests, and trailed behind James and Freddy, using the newspaper as a shield of sorts. I was at a safe enough distance behind them that I couldn't make out any of their conversation. The flaw in the plan was that they would be able to see me very clearly if they happened to turn around but that's where the newspaper came in.

I am such a creeper.

Please note that this next moment I describe is not one I am proud of.

I felt _jealous_ of Freddy.

Can you believe that? I sure as hell couldn't! Get this: I was following them down the street for a few blocks watching the two of them laugh and joke around. And then all of the sudden, I felt this surge of emotion flow through me-and it wasn't rage for Freddy's parents' rash decision to fornicate without protection and thus leading to his unfortunate existence. No, I was actually jealous. _I_ wanted to be the one that James made laugh by his witty comments. _I_ wanted to be the one who punched him playfully on the arm for being a pain in the arse (side note: how does he even manage to be so fucking adorable and endearing while pissing me off?) He was the only person that I actually _wanted_ to annoy me. And I wanted to annoy him back. I wanted him to tickle me until I couldn't breathe. I wanted him to hold me close and kiss me in the rain. I wanted to get lost in conversation, or banter, with him. In the short period that I had known him, I had really come to enjoy his company. I _missed_ him; I wished that I hadn't run away. I wished that I had taken my chances and seen if he would have come back for me. I wanted to be with him. And I was jealous of the fact that Freddy was fortunate enough to be in his presence.

That bitch.

I started wondering how the hell Freddy even _knew_ James. I mean, wasn't the loser supposed to be spending the day with his cous-

Oh.

_Oh_.

James is Freddy's cousin. That's kind of funny in a not-so-funny way. I mean, they were probably swapping embarrassing stories about me! James was probably telling Freddy about me throwing up! And Freddy was probably telling him not to take a chance on me because I was a crazy bint! A crazy bint who doesn't know how to share her cereal! OH MY GOD, MY LIFE HAS SUDDENLY GOTTEN TEN TIMES WORSE.

Bloody hell, I'm paranoid. They probably aren't smart enough to have made the connection that they're talking about the same person-if they are discussing me at all. I mean, Spencer is a perfectly_ common _na-

Fuck, they've probably figured it out.

I suddenly lost all of my nerve. I hadn't actually thought about approaching them in the first place, but now I was just anxious _following_ them.

Just as I was about to turn around and go back to Mr. Carlson's to return to my alphabetizing, thus aborting Operation: Stalk-James-and- Freddy-but-the-Latter-Only-Because-he-was-with-the-Former, James dropped his water bottle _and turned around to pick it up_.

Totally caught off guard by this sudden movement, I froze and held up the newspaper to cover my face a second too late. He had seen me; I knew he had, for we had briefly made eye contact. I had been caught. And I was scared shitless.

I swallowed hard. I wondered if he would come over to me; I wished, _prayed_, that he wouldn't, but knowing my luck, that would be exactly what would happened.

And I was right.

Twelve _painfully_ slow seconds later (believe me, I was counting), a hand gently lowered the newspaper that was concealing my face.

And in that moment, I stood face-to-face with James Potter. And I wanted to run _so badly_, but I couldn't; my feet were planted to the floor beneath me.

Neither of us spoke at first, we just stood there and stared at one another; studying the other's face. His hair was wild; sticking up all over the place. It was nothing unusual for him, but it was the first thing I noticed. If I wasn't so mortified, I would've laughed. His eyes were the next thing that stole my attention. They were unreadable, expressionless-just like the rest of his face. I wanted to know what he was thinking, what he thought of me, but at the same time, I didn't want him to say anything at all.

Finally, running a hand through his hair, he cleared his throat. "You've been avoiding me. Why?"

My heart stopped beating and I felt my face flush. It was so embarrassing to have to admit the fact that I had been too much of a coward to face him. "Does throwing up on your shoes ring a bell?" I asked finally, after long hesitation. A nervous laugh escaped from my lips, which caused me to blush even further.

This, for some reason, was not the answer James had been expecting. His eyebrows furrowed together. "Well, yeah, but-" He abruptly stopped midsentence, squinting his eyes and leaning forward a little bit as if trying to get a better look at something. "Why is there reminisce of the words 'Crazy Bint' written on your forehead?" His tone had immediately shifted from the serious 'I mean business' to the one dripping with amusement that I had come to know and love.

I felt my face flare up for the third time since this conversation began. Again, I had completely forgotten about that. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. I looked past James and at Freddy who was looking on the scene with curiosity and my eyes narrowed instantly.

Freddy for some reason, took this as his invitation into the conversation and ran over, slamming into me full force, and subjecting me to a dramatic hug as if we hadn't seen each other in ages. The hug was one-sided in case you were wondering. "Ah, Spencer, my favorite batshit, crazy, bird in all of London," he cooed.

I struggled against his vice grip that refused to falter.

Well, this is annoying.

I supposed this was how Chester felt when I embraced him.

Looking up, I gave James a pleading look; my eyes silently begging him to peal his cousin off of me. But the expression on his face was one that I didn't understand; he was looking back and forth between me and Freddy and seemed torn between being hurt and upset or just plain angry.

I tilted my head to the side, confused at what he had to be mad about; he wasn't the one who was being tortured, practically _molested_, by a great big oaf, who refused to let go.

Wait a minute. He doesn't think that there's something going on between me and Freddy, does he?

_Eeeeeewwwwww_.

I was about to open my mouth and say something offensive to Freddy, as my subtle way of reassuring him that I was in no way interested in his cousin, when James finally spoke.

"Wait a minute, you two _know_ each other?"

At the same time a rather grumpy "Unfortunately," and cheerful "Yup!" were spoken.

Freddy turned so that he was facing James, but still didn't release me-if anything, his hold actually got tighter. I grimaced at the closeness. "This is the girl I was telling you about," he said, bouncing up and down excitedly. "Her mum's the one with the nice-"

"Oi! I'd prefer if you didn't discuss your sexual escapades with my mum in front of me, thank you very much. Accidentally walking in on it was traumatizing enou-"

"-Tits."

Muttering obscenities under my breath, I heard James sigh in relief and chuckle lightly. I looked up at him to see a huge, almost goofy, smile plastered on his face.

"You mean, Heather a.k.a. 'Balloon Tits' is _Spencer's mum?_" he asked, his voice dripping with that cheesy, phony attempt of shock that bad actors from commercials on the telly possess.

"_Hey!"_

"You betcha, Jim-boy," Freddy replied, completely ignoring me. "Her plentiful cleavage is known far and wide, across the plains of Europe."

"_Don't talk about my mum like th-"_

"I hear, that in Germany, they refer to her as 'Fraulein Grossenbustenhalter,' which in rough translation means Miss Over-the-Shoulder-Boulder-Holder."

Freddy and I both froze and stared at James in awe.

"What the _fuck?_"

"_Nice,"_

James bowed at his cousin's praise and winked at my expression of horror.

WHAT IS IT WITH TEENAGE BOYS AND MY MUM'S BIG BOOBS? AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY DIDN'T I INHERIT THEM?

I mean, when Danny Greco saw them for the first time, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Evidently, Freddy had the same reaction upon first sight. And he didn't waste any time telling James _all_ about them.

For the billionth time, my life sucks so much and I-whoa, are my eyes deceiving me or am I no longer being hugged/strangled by Freddy?

HOLY GUACAMOLE HE LET GO OF ME. FREEDOM AT LAST!

It seemed that while James was spouting out possibly made up German, Freddy was so impressed that he had dropped his arms and released me. Internally, I was doing flippin' cartwheels. I was having, like, a fiesta in my brain. With a piñata and maracas and shit. The whole shindig.

But despite the celebration, I was also reminded of how he had written all over my face and suddenly I was livid.

I poked Freddy violently on the chest. "You, mister, are a _fucktard!_ You wrote on my face while I was asleep and I spent _two_ hours, _seventeen_ minutes, and _forty-eight_ fucking seconds trying to get it off and _it's still there_. I _hate_, I _loathe_, and I _despise_ you _so_ much right now. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!"

"Whoa, talk about whiplash,"

"SHUT UP FREDDY, NO ONE LIKES YOU."

James burst out hysterically laughing at this while Freddy jutted out his lip in a pout. Grabbing me by the wrists, James pulled me into a hug and rested his chin on the top of my head. I tried my best not to swoon.

"Oh, Spencer, how I've missed thee and thy random bursts of rage," he declared.

I smiled widely, my mood immediately shifting. "Wow, James, I didn't realize that you were so worldly; fluent in not only German, but _Shakespearian_."

"Shut up."

James suddenly pulled away from our hug, which I was enjoying _way_ too much, holding me at an arm's length distance away. "This reminds me; you have to make it up to me for avoiding me."

I raised an eyebrow. "And how am I expected to pay this apparent debt that I owe?"

"I am taking you out for coffee,"

"I don't drink coffee."

"I am not taking you out for coffee."

I laughed. "I do drink hot chocolate though,"

James rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I should have known."

Just to mess with him, I pretended to be offended and said "Fine, if you're gonna be like that, I won't go."

"But you _have_ to," he informed me with confidence, his eyes glistening with mischief.

"And why is that?" I asked curiously.

"Because tomorrow's my birthday and therefore you have to do everything I say."

Wow; I wasn't expecting that answer. I smiled sweetly at him. "Really? How old are you going to be?"

"Seventeen," he told me proudly.

Three months. I, Spencer Olive Lockwood, am _three months_ older than him. Three. Fucking. Months.

I was becoming my mother and I didn't even know it! I was well on my way to becoming a cradle snatcher! This is how it always began: first, it's going be just three months older and then three years and then six and then BAM! I'm in prison for dating a thirteen year old. DEAR GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

The more logical part of my brain immediately dusted the cobwebs off its surface and squashed the freak out that was escalating for no apparent reason. So, I'm three months older than him? Big deal.

(You see? The spring cleaning worked!)

"Well, in _that_ case birthday boy, how 'bout we quit standing around and go for that hot chocolate?" I amended with a smile.

"Hey!" Freddy exclaimed, interjecting into our conversation. To be honest, I had completely forgotten about his presence. "You two can't just leave me here!"

"Watch us," James replied cheekily, taking a hold of my hand and pulling me along down the street. I felt a flow of excitement flow through my body at his touch and butterflies erupted in my stomach. The two of us locked eyes and James opened his mouth to say something but our little moment was interrupted by Freddy's protests, which could still be heard in the distance, so James turned his head and called back: "I'll see you tomorrow at the Burrow, okay?"

We both laughed at Freddy's rather obscene and inappropriate reply to our abandonment. James rolled his eyes and smirked. "I swear, the bloke can't get enough of me."

I bit my lip and smiled. "I can see why," I answered truthfully. "You're quite a character, Mr. Potter."

**A/N: **Hello everyone! I hope you liked this chapter; it's certainly one of my favorites. I just wanted to let you know that next week I'll be on vacation so they'll be no update on Monday like usually (try) to do. What I'll do instead is update again this Thursday or Friday to make up for it.

Thanks for reading and let me know what you thought in a review!

~Jess :D


	8. Secrets, Secrets Are No Fun

I wanted to punch our cashier in the face.

Deadass, man, we weren't even in the front of the line yet and I already wanted to ninja my way through the crowd and knock his lights out.

Oh yeah, he was _that_ infuriating.

I know that you're probably thinking that he can't possibly be _that_ bad considering I dislike a large percentage of the human population, thus making my credibility pretty crumby, but even _James_ hated him. And James seems like the type of person who generally likes everybody; I mean, c'mon, the bloke actually _enjoys_ being in the company of Freddy Weasley. He _obviously_ has a high tolerance for obnoxious pests. But no matter how high that tolerance was, it didn't stop his steady flow of eye rolling and all around negative vibe as we waited for our turn to order.

It was what I imagined waiting on line to enter Hell was like.

"Reminds me of my Uncle Percy," James murmured into my ear in reference to the cashier, as the elderly couple in front of us finished up at the register.

"Well, fuck, you have a prat of an uncle," I replied in an undertone, taking a step forward to fill the vacated space the old people left.

He followed close behind me. "Tell me about it."

To be honest, I was beginning to feel rather sorry for James on account of his familial relations; first Freddy and now Uncle Percy.

And I thought _my_ family sucked.

I then turned my attention back to the misfortune that was waiting for me behind the counter.

With one look over it was apparent to me that our git cashier was just around fourteen or fifteen years old and was one of those kids who have a certain air of arrogance to them when given too much power. You _know_ what I'm talking about.

I'll give you a moment to let out your frustrations on the nearest object within your reach.

_Anyway_.

A single glance at the very well preserved and, wait for it, _laminated_ name tag on his chest _(I smell importance)_ informed me that his name was Elliot. And I was glad for it because the police were gonna need it in order to identify his dismembered body after James and I were through with him.

Especially since the more I stood in his presence, the more annoyed with him I got.

And after observing him for the last ten minutes, I had had enough.

You see, whereas most cashiers just take your order, press a few buttons, give you your change back, and _move the fuck on,_ Elliot would have none of this.

_Not on his shift_.

No, Elliot had to take it a step further.

As the Supreme Ruler of Starbucks Worldwide (as he seemed to think he was), Elliot had to puff out his chest importantly, speak haughtily towards the customers and down to his fellow workers. He had to name drop the manager and talk loudly about how tight the two of them were to whomever would listen. He had to inform all of us on line on a _consistent_ _basis_ that he was the year long consecutive Employee of the Month.

I mean, like, who gives a fuck?

I can press buttons too, pal.

You see this unemployment here? It's a _choice_. _Some of us_ prefer to be lazy and sleep in on Saturdays. _Some of us_ prefer to mooch off of our parents_. Some of us_ prefer to alphabetize records free of charge without the consent of the shop owner.

_Some of us_ are just cool like that.

I wouldn't expect you to understand something like that, Elliot. It's too much for your young, delicate mind to appreciate.

Once James and I were at the counter and had nowhere to look but at stupid Elliot's stupid face, it became immediately clear that he was about to start talking to us. Probably something about how his pay got raised a whole ten shillings the day before. And fifteen the day before that. Like that's something I want to hear again after it was already rambled to half of the people in the coffee shop.

But before Elliot could even get a word in, James cut him off.

"Don't care. Can we have two hot chocolates? Large would be great, thanks."

Insert dreamy sigh here.

_My hero_.

God, my patheticness has reached a whole new level these days.

Damn Potter and his adorable awesomeness.

Elliot eyed James with great distaste as if no one had ever prevented him from discussing himself before and couldn't believe James's audacity to do so.

"Here at Starbucks, we call it a _venti,_" he sneered pompously as if knowing that made him better than James.

Oh _snap_. Look at Elliot go; bloke's got some snazzy comebacks in his pocket.

Notice how we all bow down at his brilliance?

Get out from behind the counter, you_ stud_, so I can kiss your feet.

Ew. Weird mental image.

This remark, however, didn't seem to faze James a bit; he actually appeared to be an expert at dealing with people like this. "Whatever. I'll take two _venti_ sized hot chocolates."

After narrowing his eyes, Elliot pressed a few buttons at the cash register rather importantly. "That'll be £3.54,"

Instantly I reached into my jeans pocket where I had hastily stuffed in a few pounds before I left the house earlier that day.

James put out his hand to stop me.

He's. Touching. Me. Gah.

"Don't worry, I've got this."

"No, you don't have to," I insisted with a smile. "It's your birthday tomorrow; I want to buy it for you."

He shook his head. "Thanks but there's no need. I'll pay for it."

"No, really, it's no trouble at all. _I'll_ pay for it."

And that is when Starbucks exploded.

"_It's your birthday, goddamn it, let me buy it for you,"_

"_No."_

"_Why the bloody hell not?"_

"_Because I'm the guy and everyone knows that the bloke pays."_

"_I am not trying to demasculinize you, okay? I just want to get you something for your birthday! IS THAT SO WRONG?"_

"_PUT THE MONEY AWAY SPENCER. THIS ONE'S ON ME."_

"_That'll be £3.54,"_ a voice inserted assertively.

It seemed that in the midst of all of the shouting and bickering, James and I had actually forgotten the presence of our mutual enemy.

Rather than shitting his pants like he should have been, Elliot was as cocky and pompous as ever. This is what he was trained for; the precise moment that would secure his title for July's Employee of the Month.

Dealing with the crazy people.

"Now if you will just-"

But he never finished was he was about to say.

At the same time, James and I whipped our heads around to flash this square identical glares which clearly threatened his existence and sent him flying back, face tear-streaked and cowering at our very wrath.

It appeared that James and I had successfully broken the spirit of Starbuck's consecutive Employee of the Month.

Note to all: This level of instilling fear into the excessively peppy and bothersome is accomplished by skill and general awesomeness. These things cannot be taught.

With Elliot finally out of the way, James and I turned our attention back to one another.

"_THIS IS STUPID; JUST LET ME PAY FOR IT,"_

"_YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!"_

Hands on my hips in what I hoped was a threatening stance, my eyes narrowed into slits as I made eye contact with the messy haired boy next to me. We glowered at one another for several long minutes, just daring the other to blink or back down.

Finally, after a few more minutes of intense staring, James cleared his throat. "I am paying for the hot chocolate," he told me, his voice low and dangerous. I opened my mouth to protest but he held up a hand, signaling for me to let him continue. "I will let you buy me a cookie. A very small, very _cheap_ cookie. And that is all. Got it?"

As much as I despised accepting defeat, it appeared that this was the best deal that I was gonna get. "Fine," I huffed, putting as much animosity as humanly possible into the word. Satisfied with this response, he turned his back to me and faced the cash register. "Bloody wanker," I muttered under my breath.

"_What did you call me?"_

Five minutes later, we were making our way over to an empty table by the window, having finally made our purchases after twenty long minutes of being at each other's throats. James and I weren't yelling anymore, but there were countless stolen glares and eye narrowing directed at one another.

In a weird way, it was kind of fun. I mean, at this point, I was no longer mad at him, but it was oddly satisfying to shoot him the stink eye. And I had a feeling that he felt the same way.

We sat wordlessly across from one another at the round table, connecting eye to eye, brown to blue, and thus commenced the staring contest.

Prepare to lose, you messy-headed-fuck.

And so we stared.

And stared.

And stared.

_And shit, my eye is starting to twitch_.

And stared.

And stared.

_No, eyes, don't you _dare_ start to water_.

And stared.

And stared.

_Is it just me or is James slightly blurry around the edges?_

And stared.

And stared.

_Has he always looked so…fuzzy?_

And stared.

And stared.

_Fuck_.

And suddenly: it happened. In merely a split second, my willpower failed me; my eyelids fluttered towards each other, long, thick lashes connecting briefly before contracting and making the final separation to move out of one another's reach.

_A goddamn_ _blink_.

Of _course_.

Instantaneously, James leaped from his position in his chair, pounding a fist into the air and crying out triumphantly.

The anger and let down of losing suddenly spread through me like poison; I felt the burn in the pit of my stomach, my fingertips, my Achilles' heel, damn it! I honestly felt like poking my eyes out with my straw. And then force-feeding what's left of them to the old lady sitting at the table next to us.

…

Okay maybe not.

But despite my _obvious_ _distress_, James continued his act of poor sportsmanship by jumping idiotically into a sort of victory dance that included an odd assortment of movements that resembled the Macarena. He then proceeded to put his fingers in a shape of an 'L' and quite enthusiastically call me a "," attracting the attention of the entire Starbucks.

I was able to tolerate such absurdness for a few minutes but once he started to shake his _very fine_ arse in my direction and sing _We are the Champions_ at the top of his lungs, I had had _enough_. I wasn't fucking around anymore. I mean, go ahead, shout 'In your face!' _in my ear,_ poke me in the face repeatedly, see what I care. _But use the songs of _Queen_ against me? _That's gone _way_ too far. Prepare to die motherfucker.

Eyes narrowed and jaw set, I was all business. _No one_ uses my music against me. _No one_. "Alright, shut the fuck up and drink your hot chocolate," I spat. "So you won a bloody staring contest, _bloody big deal_."

And to my very surprise, James actually listened to me; however the wide, goofy grin never left his face as he retook his seat across from me.

"Aww," he cooed rather condescendingly. "Is somebody a sore loser?"

"More like somebody's a sore _winner_," I muttered, but my words were promptly ignored.

"Here," he said, breaking the chocolate chip cookie I had bought him in half and extending his arm across the table to offer it to me. "Here's your consolation prize."

In a split second, my anger dissolved and my expression fell from murderous to hurt. "You don't want it?" My voice was uncharacteristically small and quite a contrast to my previous tone.

James noticed this change and appeared to be rather confused at first, but after a look between the cookie and me, his expression morphed to one of immediate realization.

Wide-eyed and without a moment's hesitation, he violently shoved the two cookie halves into his mouth, chewing and nodding enthusiastically as if to convince me of the immense satisfaction it brought him.

I couldn't help it; he just looked so ridiculous that I couldn't help but laugh. James finished chewing and swallowed; a grin of his own forming on his face, as he joined in with my laughter.

And just like that, things were back to normal. After that, the two of us sat merrily at our little round table by the window, sipping on our hot chocolate and laughing like loons. Honestly, by the looks of us, you would have never known that we were the same pair that was flipping out on each other just mere minutes before. But James and I could get away with such insanity. No logical or rational reason behind it; we just could.

"So I hear that you've been jumping across tables lately," he said to me with a smirk while holding the door open for me as we left Starbucks. "Are my sources correct in stating this?"

My face heated up and I'm pretty sure that my heart stopped beating all together.

I KNEW THEY WERE SWAPPING STORIES ABOUT ME!

Incoming prophecy on this fine Friday:

A boy that goes by the name that rhymes with Reddy Queasley will be mysteriously struck down by this time next week. Completely unavoidable, the fates _will_ it to happen. He and his bloody big mouth are going _down_. And if his murder is not at my hands, I will at least be there to witness the universe's greatest gift to humanity: the elimination of Reddy Queasley.

I look forward to this event; it will be penciled into my calendar.

Breaking from my little daydream of Freddy's death sentence, I looked to see that James was eyeing me with a particularly evil expression that I did not like.

_Shit. He's waiting for me to say something while wearing that _stupid_ smug smirk of his. Shit. Quick, Spencer, say something intelligent!_

"I plead the fifth!" I declared loudly. About half of the people on the sidewalk fell silent and turned to gape at me. I gave them all a quick princess wave and then faced James, wearing a smirk of my own.

Ha! Now you can't make me admit to anything!

Take _that_ Potter! Just got owned _Lockwood Style_.

James raised an eyebrow at me. "Spencer, only Americans can plead the fifth…"

Oh.

Fuck.

"Well, _shit_, then I got nothing."

"…I'll take that then as a yes…?"

"He deserved it!" I insisted, stomping my foot to the ground like a six year old and once again gaining the attention of the people walking by.

James smiled knowingly at me as we sat down on a nearby bench. "Oh really? What crime did my dearest cousin, Fred Weasley II, commit in order to earn himself such a vicious attack on your behalf?"

"You already know happened," I mumbled to my hands as my face heated up from embarrassment. "You just want to make me say it because you find my outbursts amusing..."

"_Spencer,"_ he said with mock hurt. I imagined that had also placed a hand over his heart to emphasis how much I wounded him. I, of course, wouldn't know because I refused to remove my gaze from my hands. "I am _appalled_ by your poor opinion of me. Whatever gave you that _outrageous_ idea?"

"I dunno, maybe because you're an arsehole who enjoys other people's discomfort?" I looked up to see James' mouth formed into a rather comical 'O'.

"Oi!" he whined in a voice that strangely reminded me of my seven year old cousin. "Insults are not permitted on said arsehole's birthday."

"You're birthday is not until tomorrow," I reminded him.

He waved his hand dismissively at me. "Technicalities."

I stuck my tongue out him, because, you know, I'm just _oh-so-mature_. And because James is as well, he returned the gesture.

"He called me a crazy bint," I said finally.

James turned to meet my gaze. He gave me a small smile. "Yeah, I know,"

"Yeah?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "How much do you know?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, everything,"

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Even how I made him give me the Lucky Charms box?"

"Yep." He popped his lips together as he said the word.

"Because I needed my daily dose of ginger leprechauns?"

"Ye-wait you really said that?" James was quite giddy by this idea; a grin stretched on his face from ear to ear. Heh. Would you look at that? I guess Christmas came early this year. "I thought Freddy was exaggerating!"

"Nope," I replied, mimicking his action of popping my lips together. "I guess I really am a Crazy Bint."

"There've been warning signs," James stated in a mock-serious tone, nodding his head in agreement.

And because I just had to know, the one question I had been itching to ask since before we went into Starbucks spilled from my lips, words overflowing from my mouth like water in a river. "You didn't tell Freddy that I threw up on your shoes, did you? Cuz I'll never hear the end of it if you did…" My voice trailed off weakly as I realized what I had said, as I remember how mortified I still was about the whole situation. Somehow it had been so easy to forget what happened while we were joking around and drinking hot chocolate. Now? Not so much.

As a result, my face was as red as Darth Maul's light saber in the first of the sucky _Star Wars_ prequels.

An analogy my daddy would be proud of.

James seemed to be able to sense my discomfort. "I needed new shoes anyway," he offered softly in a kind voice.

I snorted. "Is that supposed to make me feel better or something?" I sneaked a peek at James's face; he was smiling rather adorably, his expression hopeful.

"Is it working?"

I bit my lip, trying to hide my smile and shrugged.

"I didn't tell him, just so you know. Actually," he continued, his eyebrows pulled together. "I barely even got to talk about you to him. After about two sentences, he jumped right in about some crazy girl who attacked him during breakfast this morning." By now James was full on smirking.

I decided to join in on the Smirk-Fest. You smirk, I smirk, we all smirk.

"I still stand by what I did,"

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"I mean, what can I say? I am just such a _spirited_ person; my spectacular display of expression known far and wide throughout the entire Kingdom…that you know, is 'United,'"

"All hail the Mighty Spencer," James cheered, a fist raised and shaking in the air.

"I should have my own theme song," I mused aloud. "And a wicked cool costume. Complete with a cape, mask, and tacky colored tights."

James burst out hysterically laughing. I wasn't sure why exactly; I mean, I know I'm witty as fuck, but it seriously wasn't _that_ funny.

"You are honestly the _weirdest_ muggle I have _ever_ met," he said through gasps. After a slight pause he added, "And I mean that in a good way."

But I wasn't listening anymore. At the utterance of the word 'muggle,' clearly an undetected slip up on James's part, a flashback from earlier that week evaded my mind.

A flashback from Wonderland.

"_I found her over by the archway. Her name's Spencer. She's a muggle, said that she fell through the barrier. What do we do?"_

"_What's a muggle?" I blurted out without thinking. My face immediately flushed red as the Potter family turned to me. None of them responded to my question right away; they didn't seem to know what to say._

"_Nothing you need to worry about," Mr. Potter said kindly after a few moments of awkward silence._

Returning to the present time, I turned my attention back to James who was rambling on about something. I didn't think twice about interrupting him.

"You've called me that before." It wasn't an accusation, just a statement, an observation.

James stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows pulling together, suddenly confused. "What?"

"That word, 'muggle,'" I said. "You've called me it before. On the platform. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

I knew that I was taking a risk by bringing all of this up. If I was wrong, if it had all been a dream, if there was no secret platform where crazy stick-carrying people roam, and James and I had really met on the train, he would for certain think that I was off my rocker. But I was willing to take that chance; I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

James straightened his back to its full height and his expression suddenly became tight, impenetrable. He puffed out his chest as if bracing himself for whatever may come, for whatever I may throw at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said challengingly, as if daring me to say otherwise.

"Oh, I think that you do," I replied coolly. My voice was strong, firm, but I didn't feel as confident as I sounded.

Maybe I was wrong after all.

For a long time, we didn't say anything. Didn't say anything at all. We just sat there, staring at each other, James revealing nothing with his tightly closed mouth and his eyes – normally so expressive – were dark and secretive.

I couldn't take the silence anymore.

"What _are_ you?" My question was blunt; straight to the point. But it needed to be in order to receive a response that was of the same nature. And the curiosity was just killing me.

James swallowed hard. Seeming to have come to some sort of decision, he said, "I can't tell you,"

"So you admit it," I said forcefully. "That it really happened. That it wasn't all a dream. That you're not human-"

The serious expression immediately slipped off of James's face and it morphed into a grin as he chuckled lightly. "Well I _am_ human," he laughed, clearly amused by the thought that he could be otherwise. "I'm just not…" His nose scrunched up as he trailed off, looking for a way to phrase what he wanted to say without revealing too much.

"Just not…?" I prompted.

He shrugged. "A muggle."

Laughing, I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. "Well that doesn't tell me anything!"

"The point, exactly."

What a git.

"Well, what's a muggle?"

"A person not like me."

"And what the hell are you?"

James bit his lip and smiled at me apologetically. "I'm technically not supposed to tell you."

This really put me out. My shoulders slumped and a great sigh escaped my lips.

Well…that really blows.

Just when I thought that I was all cool and detective like for putting some of the pieces together, everything goes splat.

Rather typical of the universe to screw me over like this.

Unless…

Suddenly perking up as the thought entered my mind, I turned to James with new determination and a winning smile. "What if I guess? Will you tell me if I'm right?"

He scrunched up his nose, once again in deep thought and sat quietly for a moment. My heart pounded heavily in my chest in anticipation for his answer. Finally, after about a billion years, James shrugged and agreed.

"I don't see why not. So, tell me, what are your theories?"

This really stumped me; I hadn't actually thought of any possibilities. In all honesty, I had absolutely no clue, none at all.

Solving riddles/mysteries had never been my forte.

But I decided to put on my thinking cap and give it a go anyhow.

Suddenly after a long stretched period of silence, I rounded on James, pointing an accusing finger at him. _"You're a vampire, aren't you?"_

This caused James to burst into hysterical laughter the moment the words left my lips. Clutching his sides, he shook his head. "Try again," he somehow managed to say through his laughter.

_Hardy-har-har_ lets all laugh at Spencer's expense.

Well, fuck you; I was hard pressed for time. _You_ try and come up with something good when put on the spot like that.

I triple-dog dare you.

Jutting my bottom lip out, I put on my best puppy dog pout face. "It wasn't _that_ bad of a guess," I mumbled defectively as he tried – and failed – to compose himself.

"No, it really was," he assured me, nodding his head vigorously.

"Nuh-uh,"

"Uh-huh,"

"Nuh-uh,"

"Uh-huh,"

"Nuh-uh,"

"Uh-huh,"

"Nuh-"

"NEXT GUESS," James interrupted me loudly.

I bit my bottom lip.

C'mon Spence, think of every fantasy novel you've ever read, every movie you've ever seen; there's got to be something…

_Percy Jackson!_

I locked eyes with James, a hopeful expression on my face. "Demi-God?"

James smirked. "Despite my _God-like qualities,_ I'm gonna have to say no."

"Werewolf?"

"Nope."

"Pixie?"

"What? _No_."

"Predator?"

"No. But that would be pretty cool…"

I thought back to the sticks that the people were carrying in Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Wands, perhaps?

"Witch?"

"Oi! I am not a _witch_. Witches are _girls_."

"Fine. Warlock?"

James smirked with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "No I am not a _warlock_."

"Hobbit?"

"_What?_ I'm, like, two times the size of those things,"

"Elf?"

"Does it look like I have pointed ears?"

"_Keebler_ Elf?"

"Okay, now you're just listing random things-"

"You sure? Haven't spent any time lately in trees cooking delicious cookies?"

There it goes again, the smirk. "Not that I recall."

"Damn."

I sighed in defeat. "You _will_ tell me eventually, though, right? Cuz it's gonna kill me, not knowing."

James smiled, not a smirk, a real, genuine smile. "How about this," he proposed. "I'll tell you by the end of the summer if you still can't figure it out."

"You promise?"

"Pinky swear."

And this, my friends, was good enough for me.

For now.

**A/N: **Hi everyone! So here's chapter 8 – early as promised! Like I said in my previous author's note, I won't be able to update next week so hopefully this will hold you over until I get back from vacation.

And thank everyone who has reviewed so far and please continue to do so; I love hearing what you think of the story!

~Jess :D


	9. Word Vomit

I've come to the conclusion that it's physically impossible for me to stop talking.

Oh yeah, _major_ word vomit on my part; I cannot even _imagine_ how bloody annoying I must come across as to others.

It's rapidly becoming an issue.

I mean, I just can't stop; I completely lack any form of a filter. Actually, me being born without one of those thingies is not completely out of the question. And honestly, at this point, I'm considering getting that checked out and then finding out if I could possibly get one transplanted into my brain because something like that would be really useful to someone like me. Yeah, it's _that_ bad. Seriously, if you let me, I could just yack away, and never stop. Ever. No, really. _Ever_. Given free rein, I could just go on and on and on and on -

AND OH MY GOD I'M DOING IT AGAIN.

Er…sorry about that.

But, seriously, no joke, I should wear one of those electric collars they have for dogs and have whomever I'm conversing with zap me whenever I get out of hand.

Never mind. That's sounds painful.

But anyway, I was starting to feel a little sorry for James after, you know, spending the whole day with me. I mean, I _really_ tried to control myself and keep my monologues to a minimum, I really did. But, well, you know, diarrhea of the mouth.

…

Who came up with that expression, anyway? That is a _disgusting_ visual.

_Anyway_.

So I was engaged in a really long rant on how I hate it when some really brilliant novel is absolutely _shredded_ when translated to the big screen and then judged unjustly by nonreaders based on said piece of shit film. And as I spoke, I was internally commanding myself to 'shut up':

_Just shut up Spencer. Shut. Up._

But I just kept talking and _talking_ and I knew that James was polite enough to listen but I wasn't sure if I was losing him or being a total turn off by being such a motor mouth. And it was making me _panic_.

And then suddenly, I don't know how I did it (willpower I suppose), I broke off from my ramblings midsentence and blurted out a rushed, long overdue apology.

"I'm sorry, am I talking too much?" I felt stupid. And nervous. I was stervous.

James shook his head. "No, you're fine."

"I'm not getting annoying, am I?"

"I don't think you're annoying."

This, for some reason, did not convince me. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Are you sure? Cuz I can-"

"Spencer, if you don't stop asking me if I think you're annoying, I may have to retract my 'no'."

"Okay. I'll stop now."

This shut me up. But not for long.

You see, despite his vow that he'd eventually let me in on his little secret (via pinky swear and you know that shit is legit), I continued to list off any possibilities that came to mind. And with each incorrect guess came an even more absurd conjecture. It reached a point where James just agreed with everything I said. It was just easier and, knowing him, more amusing that way.

"Superhero?"

"Ever since the lab accident."

"Jedi?"

"Apprenticed under Yoda himself,"

"Merman?"

"You know it."

"Centaur?"

"_Clearly."_

And so forth. We discussed other unrelated things, but every so often I would blurt out the next theory that was swimming through my mind. James would then praise me and tell me how I was nothing short of correct and then we would move on. I sometimes wondered what he'd say if I was ever right. Maybe I already said it. And maybe I didn't.

We continued on like this for quite a bit of time as we navigated our way through the bustling crowds of London. I can't even begin to explain how frustrating it was to be consistently wrong. It was practically _gnawing_ at my flesh and as time went on, I seriously began to consider giving up once and for all. It was dark and James was walking me home when I made a decision.

"I give up," I said finally, throwing my hands up in the air.

James turned to me, his expression dripping with surprise and amusement. "What? But you were _so close _on that last one."

I stopped walking and put my hands on my hips. "Don't be a smartarse."

He came to a halt next to me and ignored me as if I hadn't said anything at all. "I mean, a chimera is _pretty plausible_ if you ask me." A wicked grin flashed onto his face.

"I hate you," I huffed, crossing my arms.

"No you don't." He laughed and draped an arm across my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. His _nice_, _toned_ chest.

Gah. Can't. Breathe. Due. To. Immense. Hotness.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smirk. "I'll take your silence as a declaration of how awesome you think I am."

"_Phlarg."_ I'm just so coherent. Really, I should win some kind of award for this shit.

"I admire your eloquence, Spencer, I really do," he teased, his grin expanding.

"Your mum."

Oh wow. That was a really cool retort, Spencer. So cool. Like, unbelievably cool.

Note the sarcasm.

I should really stop saying stupid things. It just fuels James's "Let's-Make-Fun-of-Spencer" fire.

I winced internally at the thought of what was about to come.

Uh-oh. Here it goes:

"I remember when I used to use 'Your mum' as a comeback," James began thoughtfully. The expression on his face resembled that of an old person reminiscing over their younger years. "I wonder why I stopped…Oh yeah, I turned _six_."

You see?

He's such a Meany McSweeny sometimes.

This requires a witty remark on my behalf. C'mon, Spencer, FINISH HIM!

"You're just jealous of how awesome I am, Potter. It's okay to admit it."

Not exactly what I had in mind, but it'll have to work, I suppose. Better luck next time.

James snorted in response to my comment. "Yeah, I'll admit to that when Crumple-Horned Snorkacks _fly_."

Silence.

Then:

"_What the bloody hell is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"_

James bit his lip. "They…can't fly…" he began and trailed off weakly due to the look on my face. He must have realized the level of inadequacy in which his response held because he then proceeded to wince at the thought of my reaction.

I didn't even say anything. I was too frustrated. I was frustrated at being wrong all the time, with not _knowing_. I felt like I was on the outskirts of some inside joke that everyone was a part of but me. It was a joke that was so funny that everyone would be making references to it for weeks and I was the only one not laughing. And when I'd ask what happened, or what was so funny, they'd reply, "Sorry, you had to be there."

That's exactly what I felt like.

So I did the only thing that seemed logical at the time: I laid down on the pavement. I'm not exactly sure why but it in that very moment it seemed like a good idea. And so I was on my back in the middle of the road, staring pointedly at the stars, and ignoring the boy I was with.

You know, cuz that's normal…

With my back on the pavement, I scanned the sky and searched for a constellation that I could identify. There weren't many that I could; I wished that I knew more. I had always found the sky fascinating; it was just so…expansive. Endless. Beautiful. The list of adjectives could go on and on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James walk over and lay down on the pavement next to me. I turned my head away from him.

Oh look! The Big Dipper!

Ten points for Spencer!

"You a fan of the sky?" he murmured so softly that I almost didn't hear him.

If I had any control over my vocal chords, I wouldn't have said anything at all. But since I don't, as I've established earlier, I couldn't help but respond. "If I were talking to you, I would say that I love the sky but I'm not so…yeah."

Great Scott, I have some serious issues. What kind of response is that?

James laughed quietly. "Wanna do my astronomy homework for me?" I could just imagine the smirk he was wearing. I almost turned my head to look at it. Almost.

"I'm not talking to you, remember?"

"Aw, c'mon, Spencer," he whined. I didn't reply. "I'm sorry, okay? It just slipped out. I'm just used to making wi – er, non-muggle references, all the time, that's all."

I turned my head. He wasn't smirking. "I feel left out," I whispered childishly.

"I know you do."

"And I really want to know what you are."

"I know."

"And I feel like everyone knows but me."

"Not true, but okay."

"And I wish I was smart enough to figure it out myse-"

"Hey," he cut me off. "You're smart. You had some really good guesses."

I rolled my eyes. "A _chimera? Keebler Elf?_ I'd hardly say those are 'good guesses.'"

"Okay, so _some_ of them were a bust, but some of the others were pretty good."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to." He paused. "And if it makes you feel any better, I didn't understand half of that muggle stuff you were talking about earlier."

I gaped at him. "And you didn't say anything?"

He shrugged. "I like it when you go on a rampage about miniscule things."

I blushed. "B-but you knew what _Star Wars_ was."

He shrugged again. "My dad and aunt made sure that we kids were exposed to most of the classics."

"Oh."

"_Star Wars_ has always been my favorite."

I gave him a small smile, mumbled "Me too," and gazed into his beautiful brown eyes. I had never really given much thought to brown eyes before but his were really magnificent. Soft and the color of dark chocolate.

And I like chocolate.

"Am I forgiven?" James asked suddenly.

I laughed. "I suppose so."

He smiled. "Good."

At the same time, we both turned our attention back to the stars and gazed in silence. I was instantly reminded of a really great scene from the film version of _The Notebook_.

"_What happens if a car comes?"_

"_We die."_

I let out a soft laugh at the thought. James turned to me, a grin forming on his face. "What's so funny?"

I shook my head. "Muggle reference."

His hand found its way to mine, lacing our fingers together and gripping tightly. "Way to make me feel left out, Lockwood." The pout on his face was really adorable. It made me want to kiss him, not that I'd ever have the guts to.

I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed. "Welcome to my world, Potter."

Someone was prodding me, various parts of my body being jabbed – mainly my face and shoulders. I stirred but didn't open my eyes. "Hmm?"

"Spencer we have to get up."

I kept my eyes tightly shut and snuggled closer to the warm body next to mine. Fuck that, I wasn't going anywhere.

Another poke to the shoulder. I tried to swat the hand but ended up hitting my own face.

I'm so full of win; it's not even funny.

"C'mon, Spencer, we're gonna get hit by a car."

Oh right, I forgot; I'm laying down in the middle of the road.

…laying down in the middle of the road.

…_in the middle of the road._

…IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD_._

"_WHAT?!"_ My eyes snapped open in an instant and I immediately sat up, my head colliding with James's in the process. We both swore loudly (James's curses were admirably creative) and yelped in pain, clutching our throbbing heads.

"Ow," I whimpered, gasping through the pain. "You're really hard."

James burst into hysterical laughter. I stared at him curiously as he struggled to breathe.

What's so damn funny?

"That's what she said," he finally gasped.

My face blushed tomato red. "Shut up."

"I will not be silenced," he declared loudly, thrusting a fist into the air.

"Just take me home, you stupid berk."

"But then this fun adventure in which we have partaken would have to come to an _end_," he whined theatrically.

"My head hurts."

"Fine, then, _be_ a party pooper."

"I _will_ be."

"Good, I'm glad that we agree that you are in fact a party pooper."

Smiling, I punched him in the arm, still clutching my head with the other hand. James had the decency to pretend that my strike hurt.

He then stood up, gripping my bicep and pulling me to my feet. I noticed that his hair was wilder than usual from laying down on the pavement. I mean, I always thought that James looked mega-super-sexy-hot but for some reason he looked especially attractive at that very moment. I did my best not to drool or swoon. Because well, you know, that's such an oh-so-attractive thing to do. That kind of stuff just screams _"I'm girlfriend material!"_

Booyah for sarcasm.

Once I was steady on my feet, James released my arm and cupped my face, gently massaging my temples.

"Any better?" he asked, continuing the tender circular motions he was rubbing into my head.

I couldn't even talk if I wanted to.

Sweet. Baby. Jesus. He's. Touching. My. Face.

Cue spontaneous combustion!

Fireworks! Girly Squealing! Stomach Butterflies! Angels Singing!

"I have to pee."

…Word vomit?

NO! NO! NO! WHY DID YOU JUST SAY THAT SPENCER, WHY? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE: SULTRY, SUAVE, SEXY. PICK ONE DAMN IT.

I have to say that I'm pretty lucky that James has a good sense of humor.

In response to my words, he rested his forehead to mine, an eruption of laughter bursting from within him. I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen him laugh so hard, and believe me, I've said _a lot_ of stupid things that led to this sort of reaction. And I, of course, followed suit by turning an unattractive shade of red.

You know, considering that I consistently put myself through this sort of thing, it should be harder to embarrass me.

But _no_.

My face just takes pleasure in reaching temperatures that can give the sun a run for its money.

Such are the joys of being Spencer Lockwood.

I should win a metal or something; it's not as easy as I make it look.

"I guess I should bring you home now," James said, still giggling slightly.

Yes, you heard me correctly, I said _giggling_. The boy was _giggling_, damn it.

"I mean, I wouldn't want you to pee your pants or something…"

"I wasn't supposed to say that!" I moaned.

"No?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

"No. I was supposed to say something cute or mildly attractive. Anything but sodding _'I have to pee.'_"

"Oh, don't be like that, it was a good laugh."

"But I want to be _more_ than just a _'good laugh.'_" My voice went all deep and Darth Vader-like at my poor imitation of James.

He put a hand to his heart in a mocking way to show how much I wounded him. "Hey, my voice sounds nothing like that!"

I shrugged. "Everybody's a critic."

We stood a moment in silence until James took my hand and spun me around in a twirl.

I snorted (unattractively, if you must know) and raised an eyebrow. "What was that for?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, just because." He looked up at the sky. "It's getting really dark; I should probably bring you home now."

I nodded. "Yeah."

We didn't move.

James cleared his throat. "You know, I _was_ gonna offer to give you a piggyback the rest of the way to your house, but since you've got to pee and all-"

I gaped at him. "Oi! I'm not gonna _pee_ on you."

"You never know, you _did_ throw up on me after all." The affronted and horrified expression on my face seemed to thoroughly amuse him. "Too soon?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"You think?"

He let out a small chuckle and bent down slightly. "Alright, hop on."

My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands got a little sweaty; I wiped them quickly on my jeans.

I can do this…right?

Summoning all of the courage I possessed, I walked behind James and realized instantly that this wasn't gonna work. "Er, James, could you maybe bend down a little farther? I don't think I can jump that high…"

Laughing, he turned his head around slightly to look at me. "What? You're midget legs can't propel you high enough?"

I shook my head, a hint of a smile on my face. Believe it or not, his comment about my size didn't really faze me; it was the kind of thing I was used to.

With once last laugh, James obeyed my request and bent down to a level that made it easy for me to climb on. When wrapping my arms around his neck, I tried to do so in a way that wouldn't strangle him but would also keep me securely on. My heart spiked drastically once he took a hold of my legs and straightened up. I tried to keep my breathing regular.

"Where to?"

"The blue house with the gray shutters. It'll be on your right."

He nodded and began walking. "Okay. But I swear to _Merlin_, Spencer, if you pee on me…"

I laughed loudly. "I won't. Pinky swear." I paused. "Are you a King Arthur fan?"

"Huh?"

"King Arthur," I repeated slowly. "You just said 'I swear to Merlin.'" When he didn't say anything, I continued. "Merlin. You know, tall, white beard, powerful wizard, yada yada yada and all that jazz."

I felt him tense up slightly. "I know who he is."

"So are you a fan of the whole King Arthur legend or something? I'm personally not an expert but my dad geeks out over that kind of stuff all the time so I hear about it a lot."

He relaxed from beneath me. "I don't know much but the whole King Arthur legend is pretty interesting."

I nodded but then remembered how he couldn't see me. "Yeah. It is."

We were silent for a minute and I tighten my grip on James because I felt myself slipping off his back ever so slightly. He tightened his grip on my legs in response. My breath caught in my throat. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. My palms were practically drenched in sweat.

And I was content where I was.

**A/N: **Chapter 9! I know it's a day late but it's here; I'm so sorry that I couldn't update last week but we'll be back on our regular schedule from now on. Please let me know what you thought in a review!

Thanks for reading!

~Jess :D


	10. Mummy Dearest

I am the biggest berk on the face of the planet. No contest.

The fact is as simple as that. I mean, I'd _like_ to think that I'm perfectly normal but the reality of the situation is far too immense to ignore. I mean, what the bloody hell is wrong with me? At this point, I'd go as far as saying that I am just socially inept. Because there is no way that this can be normal.

No way. None. _Nada_.

But as alarming as my issues are, I can only hope that James can overlook the random nonsense that insists on spewing out of my mouth. The universe knows that I've done my fair share of that already (I mean, "I have to pee" – really?) but I have a feeling that the rambling that ensued at the close of our evening could have been the oddest of odd behavior that an odd person like myself could have behaved before another life form which I have to say isn't really all that appealing.

And look at _that!_ Run-on sentence! Who in the right frame of mind composes such fatal grammatical errors?

Spencer Lockwood, apparently. Please excuse me while I go drown myself in literature.

But wait! I'm getting off track here. I still haven't described the who, what, where, and when of the social horrors that transpired before my mother's abode.

Alright, as embarrassing as it is, here it goes:

So James and I were standing on my front porch after he let me off his back (which I _didn't_ urinate on, thank you very much). And we were talking a little bit, leaning more and more towards saying goodbye, when it suddenly occurred to me that there was a slight – extremely slight, almost _microscopic_ – chance that he would kiss me. I mean, this had been the second time we'd gone out together and not that I'd know, but wasn't it part of the unspoken social code that the guy kisses the girl after he walks her home? And as far as I could tell, he seemed to like me. At least I thought – _hoped_ – that he did.

And at first, the idea of that seemed really great: my first kiss being with a great bloke whom I really liked. And my heart began to pound like _crazy_, on the verge of bursting out of my chest, and butterflies erupted in my stomach, fluttering through my body and turning me into mush. I could barely breathe. But then, the more I thought about it, panic began to sink in and spread through me faster than the butterflies ever could – almost like poison. Suddenly, this seemed terrible, and for many more reasons than one.

I mean, let's examine this, shall we? It would be fairly unrealistic – and not to mention foolish – of me to believe that James had never snogged anyone before. I mean, have you _seen_ him? Or had a proper conversation with the bloke? He's fucking _amazing_. There would something seriously wrong with the world if those beautiful lips of his were virginal. So I think that it was wise to assume that he had had his fair share of girlfriends with whom he exchanged saliva. And on top of that, for all I knew, he could have even _shagged_. And the idea of this didn't make me at all jealous or bitchy or anything like that. Instead, I felt rather…intimidated and not to mention self-conscience.

I mean, what if I was bad at it?

And dear God, where the fuck do I put my hands?!

There were just so many things that could go wrong, that _I_ could do wrong. I mean, was it safer to stay in the little protective bubble I had created around myself? To remain in familiar territory? To become a mad cat lady who lusts over the Sex Gods on the telly?

Maybe that option was preferable to embarrassing myself – which was most certainly a given. I mean, I think it's kind of clear by now that I'm prone to humiliation, it's in my blood.

And even worse than that, what if James didn't _want_ to kiss me? What if I was left with nothing but a promise of mateship and a handshake? How would that make me feel?

With all of this running through my mind, things just seemed to take a turn for the worst. Before I knew it, self-doubt and fear of rejection overtook me and I did something that makes me wonder if I missed the apparent memo that went around on how to conduct yourself in the company of others.

Because that totally would happen to me. Because my life is just that _awesome_.

…

Virtual star to anyone who could detect the sarcasm in that statement.

Bravo. You should be very proud.

_Anyway_.

So, yeah, James was talking, I don't even remember what he was on about; my eyes were just glued to his lips, cursing them for landing me in this predicament and bringing me to my certain doom. But then I felt kind of bad about it because they are beautiful lips and I fancy the pants off of him.

Have you ever noticed how stressful blokes can make you? I think that it goes without saying that I have.

Stupid James Potter and his non-muggleness. Whatever _that_ is. You know, since he won't put me out of my misery and just _tell_ me.

But that's a rant for another time.

So I can't really explain what happened next to be perfectly honest, as I'm not quite sure what thought process led to such actions. All I know is that one moment I was on the verge of pissing myself due to the nerves he was inadvertently causing me, and the next I was throwing my arms around a still talking James's middle, and _burying my face into his shirt_. I mean what the fuck was that? He was – naturally – stunned into silence and then I went and did that thing I told you about. Yeah…you know, the one where I ramble and go on and on and don't stop for an extended period of time? Yeah, that one.

Before I could even stop myself, I was word vomiting all over the place; it was a bunch of rubbish that could hardly be considered coherent, and said rubbish was slightly muffled by the fabric of James's shirt. It was literally a ramble of complete and utter nonsense and a bunch of things that shouldn't have been said aloud. Because normal people don't do that kind of shit. But I, on the other hand, am quite far from being even remotely normal.

It went something along the lines of:

"So I had a lot of fun today, did you have fun today? I bet that you didn't have as much fun today as I did because I had a lot of fun – and I mean a _lot_. Like, on a scale from one to ten, I had about a forty-seven. Yeah, _that_ much. Which is a good thing, I think, because forty-seven is pretty much my favorite number. Hardcore, I know; that's how I roll. So, anyway, I think that we should do this again sometime – let's do this again sometime! Well, that is, if you want to. I know _I_ do. But I mean, if you decide that I'm a Major-Prat-McGee and never what to see me ever again, I'd be totally cool with that. Well, I wouldn't actually 'be cool with that' but that sort of thing is up to you, I guess. And you know what? It's totally okay that I'm three months older than you because you're really cool and awesome and nice and fit and you smell good. So we should do this again sometime. Okay, so I'm gonna leave now…stay gold, Ponyboy."

…

I don't know which I'm more upset about: the fact that I said _all of that_, or that afterwards my follow-up action was immediately detaching myself from him and making my mad escape through the front door. Like I said, I am the biggest berk on the face of the planet. No contest.

And probably the worst part is that as I was closing the door, I heard James say, "Erm…okay?"

He hates me. He hates me and he thinks I'm a moron.

_Great_.

After my retreat into safety was completed, I then proceeded to repeatedly bang my head against the door, muttering to myself: "stupid, stupid, _stupid_" over and over and _over_ again.

I wish I could say that I'm exaggerating but then I'd be lying. I have to say, it's a wonder that I'm not on any medication.

Especially since it wasn't any of that wimpy, minor, head banging; it was actually pretty hardcore. As in my head hurt like _fuck_, I don't even _know _how to properly describe it. Just really bad, I guess. Some major brain cell lossage there on my part. And then, the strangest thing happened as I was attempting to dent my cranium: I heard a loud, distinctive _crack!_ noise and, thinking that I had actually succeeded in damaging my skull, I stopped, holding my head in my hands, and began to cry.

I'm such a pathetic excuse for a human being that it's not even funny.

Just as a sob escaped my lips, and before I even had the time to _really_ get myself worked up, my mum fucking _floated_ into the room, arms stretched out, and an expression on her face that clearly read _"Oh, my poor baby."_

She is such a drama queen, it's not even funny. I am _so_ lucky I didn't inherit any of that shit.

"What's the matter?" she cooed as she engulfed me into a hug. I instinctively snuggled closer to her.

My crying bypassed before the hysterics could _really_ take over, I had been reduced to heavy breathing and the occasional hiccup. "I was – hic – banging my head against the – hic – wall and I heard this – hic – cracking – hic – noise. And I think it was – hic – my _head_."

"Shh, it's okay," she whispered in a soothing voice, rubbing circles into my shoulder blades. "I'm sure it wasn't your head that you heard crack."

You know there's something wrong when your mum doesn't seem at all shocked by the news of you banging your head against the wall.

I sniffed and wiped a runaway tear on my mum's shirt. "Yes it _was_," I insisted stubbornly.

She just hushed me and continued to rock back and forth with me still in her arms, humming softly into in ear.

…Okay and now this is just weird.

Suddenly uncomfortable in the embrace that I found myself in, I wiggled my way out of her grasp and made sure that there was at least a half a meter distance between the two of us. I don't know why, but heart-to-hearts with my mum made me feel all awkward. I just wasn't into the whole touchy-feely crap that she was so obviously yearning for. And I wasn't really like that with my dad either, but the difference was that he didn't seem to mind. I guess that kind of thing made him uncomfortable too. When it came to him, all I had to do was describe my feelings/current predicament in terms of characters from his favorite novel/comic/film. It was just so much simpler that way.

But I'd be lying if I said that the hurt look on my mum's face didn't make me feel bad.

"Does this have anything to do with that boy you were with outside?" she asked in a quiet voice.

My eyes widened in immediate panic. Fuck, there had been a witness. "Pfft, I…uh…erm…_no_…pfft…_were you spying on me?_" I stammered, sounding like a complete idiot.

My mum bit her lip guiltily, wincing slightly. I resisted the urge to collapse onto the floor and die. "He's very cute."

_Whoa_, back off bitch, he's mine.

I wasn't even sure how to respond to that. I mean, I know that lately she decided it was cool and all to prey on younger men, but _honestly_.

Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to say anything in reply to her comment because she spoke before I even had the chance to. She spoke quickly and in a stern voice which was rather contrasting to her previous tone of motherly affection. "But what about Ned Knickerbocker?"

My eyebrows knitted together in confusion, completely at loss as to what she was referring to. "Er…"

"I mean, how could you do something like that to him? After all of these years?"

Still utterly bemused, I continued to stare at her, my eyes clearly saying, _"What the bloody hell are you going on about woman?!"_

And then suddenly it hit me:

Ned Knickerbocker.

My fake boyfriend.

I knew that this would bite me in the arse someday!

You see, what had happened was that when I was fourteen, my mum kept bothering me about giving Danny a chance because he was _"such a nice boy"_ and _"clearly likes you a lot."_ And, well, after about the billionth time, I had had enough. So I told her that I had started going out with the brother of one of my roommates at school. And she believed me.

And thus, Ned Knickerbocker was born.

I'm not really even sure why she believed me in the first place, though. I mean, how would I ever even meet the brother of my roommate? And when would we ever see each other? I go to a bleeding _all-girls_ school for Christ's sake!

And probably the worst part of this whole thing was that when I conjured up Ned Knickerbocker, I was in that phase that practically every teenage girl seems to go through: the Cheesy Romance Novel=the Holy Bible Stage.

So as you probably already guessed, Ned Knickerbocker was a complete poof with blonde locks of delicate gold who read poetry to me after we finished the food from the picnic he surprised me with earlier.

What a git.

I mean, why have a Ned Knickerbocker when you could have a James Potter?

Erm…that is if he still wants me.

Erm…that is if he ever wanted me in the first place.

Regardless, I didn't like being in this tight spot with my mum. She thought that I was a cheater when I didn't even have anyone to cheat on in the first place. And she was giving me that look. You know, that one that was full of _judgment_.

Attempting a quick save, I simply shrugged. "We broke up."

My mum gasped, her dainty hand fluttering to rest on her heart. "When?"

"Er…a few months ago."

With another dramatic gasp, she pulled me into another stranglehold – er, I mean hug. "Oh sweetie, you must have been _so_ _heartbroken_. Did he say why he wanted to break things off? I mean, after three years?"

Indignant, I pushed her away, folding my arms across my chest. "Oi! What makes you think that he broke up with me?"

My demand was met with guilty silence.

Thanks mum. Love you too.

"Well, just for your information, mum, _I_ broke up with _him_."

She stared at me incredulously as if I had just told her the most ludicrous thing. Was it really that disbelieving that I would be the one to break up with someone and not the other way around? Even if the subject of said break up was imaginary? Should I be insulted by this?

The answer to that is yes.

"_Why would you do such a thing?"_ she all but screeched. I couldn't believe it; the woman sounded absolutely horrified.

"Because he was being a prat," I said, inventing the character flaw on the spot. "Trust me, he had it coming for a long time."

She shook her head, seeming disappointed and completely put out. "I just can't wrap my head around it. I mean, he was so perfect for you, Spencer. For the longest time I thought that he could be _The One_."

Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.

So my mum and I kind of, sort of, got into a bit of a row a little while later. She was cross that I broke of up with Ned Knickerbocker who, according to her, was "The One" and I was cross that she would be delusional enough to think such a thing when she had never even _met_ the bloke.

And have I mentioned that he's bloody _imaginary?_

The argument was going on and on, and I was starting to get really annoying, especially considering the row's forged foundation. I was on the verge of just apologizing to appease her when she suddenly got this serene expression on her face and suggested that we watch a movie.

Needless to say, I didn't trust it a bit. But I reluctantly accepted the invitation, presuming that it probably wasn't optional anyway.

So we went into the living room and began watching the movie of her choice.

A half hour into the film, I noticed two things:

1. We were currently lounging on the very couch I had walked in on her and Freddy fornicating on.

and

2. The ulterior motive behind us watching this particular film.

You see, my mother was a huge supporter of subliminal messages; I was surprised that I hadn't founded her out sooner. The two of us watching this film was her way of making me "see" what I was so "blindly missing."

As if.

You want to know what I learned about myself?

Apparently, I have Alzheimer's Disease.

I have Alzheimer's Disease and my husband is reading our love story to me.

Yes, you guessed it, we were watching _The Notebook_. And from what I had gathered from my mum's constant reminders of that _"Lon Hammond's are temporary; Noah Calhoun's are forever,"_ in her mind James was Lon and Ned was Noah.

Let's just say that I was getting very annoyed, very quickly.

But about twenty minutes before the end of the film, I was saved: Chester had finally decided that it was time to grace us with his presence, strutting across the room with his fat belly swinging back and forth with each step. I had never been so happy to see the furry little bugger in my entire life (which says a lot considering I was always happy to see him).

"Chester! You fluffy potato munchkin!" I squealed with delight. I bounced excitedly – and undoubtedly obnoxiously – in my seat, slapping my lap with my hands as an invitation for him to park his fat kitty butt there.

With a superior glance in my direction, Chester hopped onto the couch with great effort, only to take a seat in none other than my mother's lap.

I stared at him in disbelief, hurt and rejection running through my veins and causing me to slump in my seat. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my mum was smirking slightly.

"Well, maybe if you didn't annoy him so much, he would actually _like_ you," she said haughtily.

"No one asked you, child molester."

…Whoa, did I just say that?

Apparently, my mum had been thinking the same thing because she instantly responded with a razor-sharp, _"Excuse me?"_

Long story short, I was sentenced to my room after a lot of _"It just so happens that Freddy is of age,"_ and _"How could you say something like that to your own mother?" _and, well, let's just say that it wasn't very pretty.

I left the combat zone thoroughly outraged with both my mum and Freddy. I mean, if it weren't for her slaggish and cougar ways, something like that wouldn't have slipped. So yeah, not entirely my fault. And fucking Freddy, if I had a pound for the number of times that I got in trouble with my mum because of him I would have…okay I'd only have two pounds, but _still_. The bloke was just getting higher up on my shit list.

Upstairs, as I was trekking my way down the hall, I felt my phone begin to vibrate and the familiar jingle of my ringtone sound. Checking the caller ID, I saw that it was my dad.

"Shit," I muttered, staring at the screen. I let it ring a few times before picking up. "'Lo."

"Cadet?" barked a voice about an octave below my father's. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes?"

"You mean 'yes, sir,' Cadet!"

I sighed heavily. "Yes _sir?_"

"Is the Cadet stationed in a place of secrecy?"

"Er…" I threw open the door to a hallway closet, entered, and closed the door behind me. "I am now…sir."

"Now, Cadet," he began, his voice slightly higher than previously. Noticing his error, he quickly cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his tone had returned to the deep rasp from before. "What are your reports on Operation: Scoundrel?"

"…Operation…Scoundrel?"

"Oh," my dad said, all signs of baritone gone. "I forgot to tell you, when you left, I named the mission Operation: Scoundrel because it's an operation…and the bloke your mum's dating is a scoundrel."

"Clever," I noted, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. If he detected any at all, he didn't mention it.

"…So how's it going? With the mission?"

I wasn't sure why, but I kind of didn't want to give Freddy up. Whether it was to save my dad's feelings or to make sure that he didn't embarrass himself by trying – and failing – to beat down Freddy, I wasn't sure. For a brief moment, I considered that it was to protect Freddy from my dad's insanity but that couldn't possibly be it because that would suggest actually liking Freddy and that would be just _stupid_.

But whatever it was, I didn't tell him. I knew he'd have to find out eventually, but maybe he could stay hidden in the dark for just a little bit longer. For now, he was better off not knowing that his ex-wife's recent extracurricular activities consisted of sleeping with a younger man.

"I haven't met him yet," I said finally, the lie coming to me easily.

"Well, what's his name?"

"I…don't know."

"How tall is he?"

"I don't know."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know."

"What's his favorite color?"

"I don't know."

"_Anything? Do you know anything at all?"_

"Er, not really." My dad exhaled heavily, sounding frustrated and annoyed. "Well, I've only been here a day. I need more _time_."

"How much time do you need?" he snapped. "I asked you to do _one simple thing_ for me and here you are empty handed."

I was silent. I didn't like the way he was talking to me, so disappointed and all. He'd always had that ability to make me feel bad like that.

"He sounds really boring from what she _has_ said about him," I invented on the spot, hoping that it would make him see me in a better light. "And he's probably really uncultured. You have nothing to worry about, dad."

"_Commander,"_ he corrected, his voice returning to that deep bass.

"Er, right. Commander."

"Well, Cadet, if that's all you have to offer me, you will resume to your line of duty until further notice. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir."

"That'll be all, Cadet."

I rolled my eyes. "Dad – er, _Commander_ – I've been a 'Cadet' for I don't know how long. When the hell am I gonna be promoted?"

"When you start giving me results," he said shortly.

And then he hung up.

I stared at my phone, eyes wide and jaw dropped. I couldn't believe it; he hung up on me. The little fucker actually _hung up_ on me.

I had succeeded in making both of my parents cross with me within one evening, quite an accomplishment, I have to say.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I emerged from the closet, continuing my journey down the hall and into my bedroom. After closing the door behind me, I froze in place, sensing a disturbance in the force. I scanned the room with narrow eyes until settling upon my bed; taking a step forward, I looked underneath it.

"Hi Danny."

He nodded his head at me in a businesslike manner. "Spencer."

"You wanna watch _Mean Girls_ with me?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding his head once more. "Okay."

As I set up the cheap, DVD player that I suspected was from the beginning of the twenty-first century, Danny crawled out from under my bed and planted himself on the floor in front of my equally ancient telly. I'd be lying if I said that this hadn't happened before. Last time, we watched _The Breakfast Club_.

Everything set up and ready to go, I sat down on the floor next to him. We were silent for a moment until Danny cleared his throat. "Can I put my arm around you?"

I considered this for a minute. "Only during the beginning credits," I decided finally.

I should have known by now, that when given an inch, Danny has the tendency to take a mile.

Let's just say that by the time the credits had rolled to "Produced by" his hand had begun to creep towards my left boob. And let's just say that I was _not_ okay with it. Danny's acts of sexual harassment were met with fifteen minutes of film time being viewed from the corner of the room. When he was finally allowed to rejoin me at his place in front of the telly, he had to be at least three meters away from me or else I said I'd press charges.

But overall it had been rather pleasant. Once the movie was over, Danny made his grand exit through my window without even attempting to snog me first which I thought was a triumph within itself.

My little stalker is growing up!

The following morning, I woke up feeling pretty refreshed and enjoyed a divine bowl of Lucky Charms by myself without the interruption of a certain shirtless bloke.

I was walking on sunshine, damn it!

That is, until I left the kitchen.

There to greet me as he ascended down the stairs was said shirtless bloke, although he had done me the honor actually wearing a shirt. But I was appalled regardless because he was in the process of zipping up his pants and buckling his belt.

"Freddy," I sneered, a look of pure revulsion on my face. I hated him, I really did.

"Ah, Crazy Bint Lockwood," he said brightly, giving me a quick salute. Noticing my expression, he looked down at his half-done pants and then back up at me. He smirked. "Just had a quickie with Mummy Dearest, don't mind, do you?"

I think it took all of my willpower not to run over and strangle him. "Arsehole," I muttered.

"You know, Spencer," he said, suddenly serious. "I know you don't take a particular fancy to me right now, but someday, _someday_, we will be mates."

"Doubt it," I deadpanned.

"Mates that play Exploding Snap with one another," he said majestically, ignoring me completely. His voice had a dreamlike quality and his form of speech reminded me of a crappy medieval movie.

"Dunno _what_ that is."

"Mates that travel into the Forbidden Forest together,"

"Dunno _where_ that is."

"Mates that steal Auntie Muriel's wig."

"Dunno _who_ that is. And that's just terrible!"

Freddy seemed to have emerged from his little vision of our never-gonna-happen mateship. "The old bat's a wretch; you'd feel differently if you knew her." A smirk appeared once again on his face. "Little Jamsie helps me steal it every time. Doesn't seem so bad, does it, now that you know your lover boy participates?"

I didn't say anything, only glared.

"Speaking of the Birthday Boy, I must be off to the Burrow. Gram will jinx me if I'm late again."

My eyebrows knitted together. "Jinx…?"

He waved me off with his hand, making his way towards the door. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"And what's 'the Burrow'?" I demanded as he grabbed a hold of the doorknob.

He turned his head to look at me. "That's what we call my grandparents house."

"Oh."

"Bye, love," he said seductively, blowing me a quick kiss and throwing me a wink.

In return, I flipped him off.

I'm such a nice person.

Laughing rather heartily, Freddy opened the door and walked through, leaving me alone in the living room. Not a minute later, I heard that same _crack!_ noise from the other night when I had been banging my head against the door. Thinking that perhaps he had slipped and cracked his head on the steps or something, I ran to the door, throwing it open and stepping onto the front porch to see if he was okay.

But he was gone.


	11. Mulling Sessions & LateNight Phone Calls

The next day I was still mulling over Freddy's little disappearance act. It was definitely strange; I mean, one moment he was there and the next he wasn't. What the fuck kind of Houdini mumbo jumbo was that? And that _crack!_ noise; what the hell was that all about?

Throughout all of my mulling, I couldn't help but be royally pissed at Freddy. I mean, how _dare_ he do something like this! How dare he commit an act that would cause so much mulling and overall madness on my behalf? What an inconsiderate, stupid git! There was no way that he didn't do this on purpose just to annoy me. I mean, it wasn't exactly a secret that I hated not being in the know and that my nosy nature tended to get the best of me.

A cruel bloke, that Freddy Weasley.

After cursing Freddy to a life of misery and doom, I decided that all of this mulling wasn't doing me any good on an empty stomach. So I went to the kitchen. And I ran into my mum. Time seemed to standstill. Un-pleasantries were exchanged internally. But the message got across regardless. We stared some more and then we went our separate ways. She left the kitchen; I ate a spoonful of peanut butter and a handful of chocolate chips that she uses for baking. I returned to my bedroom shortly afterwards.

I probably should have been more upset but I had more important things to worry about than a falling out with my mother. Like the thing with Freddy Weasley. Much mulling was in store because I hadn't the slightest idea what it could possibly be. In fact, it was bothering me so much that I even considered talking to her about it but after some mulling on the subject, I didn't dare. The cold shoulder she was giving me each encounter we had that day made it very clear that she was still mad because of the comment I had made yesterday.

Some people are just so touchy.

I mean, _I _didn't think it was that much of a big deal, but _whatever_.

_Anyway_.

So after a good and proper mulling session that lasted about forty-five minutes of good and proper mulling, I decided that this _crack!_ phenomenon that seemed to occur around James and Freddy was due to the fact that they were Non-Muggles.

…whatever that was.

Which led to my next course of action:

Hardcore Google Search.

I do not know if you are aware of this, but I am a Hardcore Google Searcher – probably the best in the United Kingdom and all its united kingness. When I Google Search, it is Hardcore and I _always_ get results.

Always.

It comes in handy, being a Hardcore Google Searcher.

That unidentified emotion that just coursed through your veins? Yeah, that's jealousy and it's totally understandable. If it weren't for the fact that I was already a Hardcore Google Searcher, I'd be jealous too.

So with my newfound determination and the power of the World Wide Web on my side, I set out to do the impossible:

Find out what the fuck James is.

So I cracked my knuckles (ow, that hurt), sat down in the nifty rolly-chair (ooo, rolly), and went to work.

…And I failed miserably.

I couldn't believe it! I got absolutely, positively no results when I typed 'Non-Muggle' into the little search bar thingy. I mean, even that blinky chick from _Twilight_ got the results she was looking for when she looked up 'vampire.' And she's not even a Hardcore Google Searcher! By contract, my research-esque demands are supposed to be met. But _no_, it was all like, "oh hey, did you mean 'non-_mega_?'" And I was all like, "uh, no, arse-wipe; if that's what I meant, that's what I would have _typed_." And then I tried 'Muggle' – still no results. 'James Potter' – nothing. 'James Potter is a Non-Muggle' – zip. And then shit went down; the whole confrontation got all messy and in the end, Google was up one point and I still had zero. My day turned into a load of suck as a result.

I mean, it wasn't fair. I was a Hardcore Google Searcher, damn it! Google was supposed to cooperate with each and every one of my requests!

I was so cheesed-off that the rest of the day was wasted by much sulking and vows to never use the internet again. By seven o'clock my mum was debating whether or not she should take me to a psychiatrist. I told her that she might as well because her slaggish cougar ways were bound to put me there anyway. I was sent to my room immediately as a result and I complied, declaring "I speak the truth!" as I ascended the stairs.

…Yeah, I don't think she's very happy with me.

And because I'm so cool, the remainder of my evening was spent lying on my bedroom floor singing "Nights on Broadway" loudly and off-key.

I'm so awesome that I don't even know how to handle it sometimes.

jk, lol.

…

Ew, sorry, that was weird. I was trying to use some of that strange "text-talk" thing my dad sometimes uses. I have to say, I didn't dig it much – not doing _that_ ever again.

But regardless, my night was a lonely one. I was all alone – all by my lonesome. My mum didn't forgive me, James didn't call and Danny didn't creep in through my window. This depressed me.

I went to bed a friendless loser.

At three o'clock in the morning I was startled awake by an all too familiar sound: my cell phone ringing. Eyes wide open, thanks to the arsehole who was calling me at such an hour, I stared at the ceiling, counting its many cracks and water stains, waiting patiently for it to stop ringing. And it did. Smiling to myself, I rolled over onto my side and snuggled deeper into the depths of covers I had cocooned myself within. My eyelids began to droop, my subconscious sinking into dreamland…

"SUNSHINE, LOLLIPOPS AND RAINBOWS. EVERYTHING THAT'S WONDERFUL IS WHAT I FEEL WHEN WE'RE TOGETHER. BRIGHTER THAN A LUCKY PENNY, WHEN YOU'RE NEAR THE RAIN CLOUD DISAPPEARS, DEAR, AND I FEEL SO FINE JUST TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE MINE."

My cell phone was ringing…again.

"Persistent mother fucker," I grumbled from underneath the covers, trying to ignore the sound.

It stopped. I sighed contently, eyes fluttering shut. Not a minute later, it started ringing again.

"What the bloody hell – no decency – I fucking _hate_ –"

Swearing in what couldn't anything but _tongues_, I groggily rose from my warm, comfy bed and traveled to the corner of my room where I had unceremoniously stripped and left my clothes from the day. Reaching into my jeans' pocket, I pulled out my phone.

"Hello?" I put as much contempt into that single, two syllable word, hoping to convey how displeased I was at being woken up so early.

"I seeeeeee youuuuuu," the voice on the other end responded. The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stood up and my heart began to pound.

Holy fucking shit.

The dryness of my throat was making it difficult for me to talk. "Who is this?" I demanded, trying to keep the panic out of my voice and making a conscience effort not to look in the direction of my window. My imagination was conjuring up a serial killer wearing a _Scream _mask sitting idly behind the glass; I'm not sure why, it just did.

"Your worst nightmare_, mwahahahaha_."

Um…

I paused for a moment, no longer on the verge of shitting my pants and eyebrows knitted together. "Freddy?"

Silence.

"Sup, girlie?"

I groaned and my grip tightened around my cell phone. "Freddy, I am gonna fucking _kill_ you."

An explosion of laughter sounded loudly in my ear that couldn't possibly have been produced by a single person. I couldn't imagine what was so funny: one, I nearly had a _heart attack_ and two, didn't they realize what _time_ it was? It was fucking three o'clock in the morning and Freddy, along with whomever he was with, was laughing it up as if it were noon. I was so unbelievably furious, but I waited patiently for the hysterics to subside, expelling my rage in the meantime by sending death glares at the stuffed teddy bear lounging on the bookshelf nearby.

It suddenly occurred to me that life as a teddy bear must be a good one; for one thing, they don't have an irksome parasite attached to their arse named Freddy. And they're fluffy. And super adorable. And you know what? Russell Jr. probably gets a full night's sleep every night with no interruptions. A good life indeed.

…Although, maybe not, because Russell Sr. _was_ clawed to death by Chester…

But _anyway_, being in my current position, being a teddy bear, despite the many treacheries they face, didn't seem so bad. I considered for a moment just hanging the phone, but I figured that he would call back and keep doing so until I complied so I might as well get this out of the way.

Finally after what seemed like forever, the laughter died down. "Oh Spencer," sighed Freddy dreamily. "I love it when you talk dirty."

A look of pure revulsion donned my face. "Fuck you," I spat.

There was a light chuckle. "I don't know, love, my cousin probably wouldn't appreciate that very much."

"You're a fucking prick, you know that?" someone said in the background, their voice a little faint in my ears. My heart began to race in my chest upon recognition; I could hear its pulsing in my head. My breath caught in my throat and a shiver rushed through me. I knew that voice, I knew it all too well:

_James_.

I couldn't help but hate myself a bit for letting him have such an effect on me. I knew that it wasn't something I could really control, but still. I wasn't one of _those_ girls. I didn't let blokes take over my life, but maybe that was because I usually didn't have a bloke to do that. I still didn't like it though. I made a mental note to beg Robyn to smother me with a pillow if I started saying things like, "OMG" and freaking out over a broken nail.

Because if I started to do things like that, well, there would be no other option, only _death_.

"…know you want me."

I quickly snapped out of my reverie, realizing that Freddy had been having a one-sided conversation with me the entire time I was thinking about James. "Freddy, is there a reason that you called me?" I cut across before he could say any more, my voice purposefully ice cold.

There was a slight pause. "I dunno. Boredom."

Any sort of lovey-dovey feeling that had infiltrated my psych had vanished completely and all that was left was homicidal rage. My teeth clenched together. "Yeah, well, take your boredom elsewhere, dickhead. I want to go back to bed."

"Nope." The way he popped his lips together at the close of the syllable made me want to reach into the phone and mutilate his face.

"Hang up and the phone and don't even _think_ about calling me back," I hissed. I really didn't want to wake up my mum (that is, if I hadn't already) but it was getting more and more difficult to control the volume of my voice.

"Hmm, let me think about that…no."

"Hang up the goddamn phone, Freddy."

"No, _you_ hang up," he responded flirtatiously, an imitation of a sickeningly in love couple refusing to be the one to say goodbye first.

"Freddy just hang up," a voice I didn't recognize said in the background. The voice was smooth, cool; I vaguely wondered if it was James's brother.

"Yeah, I told you not to bother her in the first place," a voice that I definitely recognized as James's added curtly. He sounded more than a little bit annoyed which made my heart swell with joy.

He is so awesome.

"Oh, quit being such buzz kills, the both of you," Freddy replied brightly which only made me wish him death more.

I mean, who is this cheerful at three o'clock in the morning?

He must be the Antichrist. There is no other logical explanation.

I closed my eyes and slumped against the wall in defeat. "Just leave me alone," I practically pleaded, my fire burning out. God, I was just so tired. In so many more ways than one.

"I am not hanging up this phone young lady."

I sighed. "You know what? If you're not gonna hang up then just give the phone to someone else; I don't wanna fucking talk to you anymore." My voice sounded flat, dead. I wished that I had more energy to put into being mad. In some weird sadistic way, I very much enjoyed being hostile towards Freddy.

"Oh, silly Spencer. You're funny if you think that I'm gonna – Hey!" From what I could tell from the many grunts and swears that soon followed, someone had taken the phone from Freddy's possession and now he was attempting to reclaim it. It was quite the struggle, I must say. It lasted what felt like a really long time but was probably only a few seconds until there was a final grumble and then a silent victory.

"_I'll_ take that, thanks."

I nearly dropped my phone.

"Hi, Spencer."

I cleared my throat. "Er – hi, James."

Silence.

Well this is awkward…

I tried to think of something to say but nothing was coming to me. It was as if my brain had completely shut down. Something in the back of my mind was telling me that I should be really embarrassed due to the content of our last conversation – or rather my monologue, but I was too tired to put the effort into it. For once, I just wanted a normal exchange with James but that didn't seem very likely as neither of us were saying anything.

That is, until:

"You're, like, the weirdest bird I've ever met."

I couldn't fight the goofy smile that was forming on my face or the fit of giggles that came along with it – I didn't want to anyway. Somehow his statement didn't insult – or surprise – me at all. Actually, I would have been more surprised if I _wasn't_. You have to be pretty weird if you're stranger than me.

Once my laughter subsided (which was a little on the hysterical side due to the fatigue), I sighed. "I'm glad that I hold such a special place in your heart."

I patted myself on the back for still being able to come up with a somewhat intelligent response at such an absurd hour for quick thinking. Just another example of my mad skills. It's up there with my ability to clap with one hand and separate the chocolate cookie and the cream center of an Oreo.

…This is probably why I don't have a boyfriend.

"Oh, yes, that place is reserved especially for you," James replied, expelling a bit of laughter as well.

In the next moment someone – I suspected that it was Freddy – all of the sudden went "Poof!" covering up the insult poorly with a fake cough. The scuffle that immediately followed and the shrilly exclamation of _"_Ow_, you didn't have to hit me so _hard_,"_ led me to believe that James had given Freddy what was coming to him.

I have to say, the imagery that my mind had come up with of the action made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It involved a shirtless James with windswept hair and muscles that had muscles, beating a cowering Freddy to a pulp as he _begged_ for the mercy that would not be heeded.

…

It should probably worry me that Freddy's pain causes me joy.

However, I was just too happy to see anything wrong with it.

"James, James, James, James, _James_," I squealed, bouncing up and down in an incredibly obnoxious manner that I inwardly attributed to the lack of sleep. "Oh my God, is he – oh my God – is he _bleeding?_ Please tell me he's bleeding."

"He's bleeding."

"Really?"

"No."

"Damn."

James – joined by the other occupants of the room – laughed at my disappointment.

"Fuck you, Spencer. JUST KIDDING I LOVE YOU AND – "

"Do you _want_ me to hit you again?"

"I'll be quiet…proceed with courting your lady."

"Yeah, I will…over there."

Wherever "there" was, was far away from Freddy; from what I could tell, James left the room to go into another, closing the door behind him when he finally reached his destination.

"So, um…" Now that he was located in a place where there'd be no interruptions, he seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to me. "Hey."

"…Hey."

Lucky for him, I was as well.

We make a good pair, very articulate.

I figured that this would probably be ten times less painful for us if one of us would just grow some balls and say something. I would have preferred that it wasn't _me,_ but, well, mouths open, words come out. All and all, shit happens.

"So, er, how'd Freddy get my number?" I asked casually, trying to the mask the heaps of awkward that was just brewing inside of me.

I heard James quietly sigh that signaled to me that he was grateful for my break in the silence. "He stole it from your mum's contact list on her phone."

I blinked a few times, staring blankly at Russell Jr. the Teddy Bear. "Er – why?"

"This late night phone call? Let's just say that it's the first of many."

"Oh how exciting."

You know, except for the fact that it's not.

James cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, um, so, on our date thing the other day – not that it was a date or anything. I mean, unless you wanted it to be. And by that, I don't mean that _I_ didn't want it to be, but if you say that it wasn't, then it wasn't, you know? But yeah, the date – I mean, _day_ we spent together, was first rate – much better than all of the Hogsmeade dates – I mean _days_, I've been on. Not that they weren't good or anything, it's just that you can only sit through Madam Puddifoot's so many times without wanting to stab whoever created the color pink repeatedly. But anyway, on the date – _day_ – I also had on a scale of one to ten, a forty-seven – on the fun scale, that is. And I'd really like it very much if you'd accompany me on another expedition of the day nature…unless you want it to be a date…I'm cool with that too."

…Bloody hell, I think James Potter just word vomited.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize. This includes **_**Twilight**_** (Stephenie Meyer), Google (Larry Page and Sergey Brin - I googled that one :D), Oreos (Nabisco Division of Kraft Foods), **_**Scream **_**(Kevin Williamson) the song "Nights on Broadway" (The Bee Gees), the lyrics to the song "Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows" (Lesley Gore).**


	12. The Art of Being Suave

I think my brain exploded.

No really, _I think it exploded_.

There was no other explanation – none whatsoever. All signs of coherent thought had disappeared completely and I seemed to have forgotten how to perform basic motor skills.

Like talking.

Seriously, I couldn't, for the life of me, open my mouth and utter a simple "yes" or "no." It was as if everything had shut down, _as if my brain had exploded_.

You know, scientists would probably argue that this is not possible, but it did happen, I kid you not. And like everything that seemed to be happening to me lately, it was all James Potter's fault.

So, yeah James, thanks for making my brain explode; it wasn't as if I _needed_ it or anything.

…

You know, if I wasn't around to laugh at my own jokes, I'm pretty sure that nobody would.

This is why I need mates. Although I think "followers" might be the more suitable term because their sole purpose would be to burst into hysterics over every little remark that left my lips.

Hm. That'd actually be pretty cool; I'll have to discuss the proposition with Robyn – although I'm not sure if she be game for doing something like that…

_Anyway_. Back to what I was saying. Brain. Explosion. Couldn't speak.

I don't think that I had ever been stunned into silence before; James should be very proud. I mean, he had just _word vomited_ – a very Spencer-thing to do, I'll add – about wanting to go out with me again. Me! Spencer Olive Lockwood: Word Vomit Extraordinaire and all around weirdo. I knew exactly what I _wanted_ to say, I just couldn't seem to physically _do_ it. Plus, I wasn't exactly sure if bellowing "OF COURSE I WANT TO, YOU GORGY GIT" was socially acceptable in this sort of situation. I mean, I _am_ kind of new to this whole girl-likes-boy-boy-likes-girl-back thing. I was usually in the girl-likes-boy-boy-doesn't-know/care-that-girl-exists type limbo.

Which _sucks_, by the way; you know, just in case you're one of those girls who've had a steady stream of blokes since the age of twelve and didn't know.

…

I envy your guts.

Correction, I _did_. Now I have a mega-super-sexy-hottie asking me out so _suck on that_ Gretchen Forbes.

Bitch used to call me a "Frizz-Head Spinster" behind my back at school. That is, until one of my roommates told me and I tackled Gretchen across the table at breakfast (in a similar fashion to my attack on Freddy). I received detention for a few weeks, a phone call home, and the resolve to find a hair product that tamed frizz.

And I never looked back.

Unfortunately, having un-frizzy hair never taught me how to interact with the male species which brings me to my new predicament: How do you accept and tell a bloke that you want it to be a _date_ (and not a _day_) without sounding too eager? Or desperate? Because sounding too eager and desperate is a relationship no-no, isn't it?

_Isn't it?_

When speech finally seemed possible, I decided that being suave and nonchalant was the best course of action.

"That's cool," I said in a totally suave, James Bond-esque voice. "I guess it can be a date– I mean, if you want it to be…I suppose."

James mirrored my nonchalance with an equally suave James Bond voice. "It doesn't really matter to me. It can be if you want."

I furrowed my eyebrows; it seemed that my plan was back-firing. I wanted to scream into the receiver and tell James that he wasn't allowed to be as suave as James Bond if _I_ was being as suave as James Bond. I mean, there was only room for _one_ suave James Bond in this conversation and that was clearly me because I inwardly called dibs. But I decided to not lose my cool and proceed onward: I was just going to have to out-suave him.

When I spoke next, I laid the suave on real thick. "Funny thing is it doesn't really matter to me either, so you can make that decision if you'd like."

"And steal that opportunity from you? Not at all. And besides, it would be _impossible_ for me to make that decision seeing that it doesn't really matter to me."

…

Damn he's good.

"Nor to I," I replied tightly, suaveness draining from my tone. "Therefore, I think that _you_ should decide."

"Ladies first."

"This is the twenty-first century, James, not the seventeenth."

"I'm sorry, but last I checked, being polite did not go out of style. So…you choose."

"I'd rather not."

How did James Bond ever succeed at being a ladies man by being so suave? This is getting us nowhere. Nowhere I say!

Before long our mutual suaveness disintegrated completely and we began to be just plain immature by switching to the classic "You do it," "No you!" We went back and forth for I don't know how long until I finally put an end to it.

"Everybody stop talking," I commanded. I was met with brief silence.

"Um, Spencer, it's just you and me."

"I know that."

"So how can it be 'everybody'?"

"Because I said so, now shut up."

"But –"

"Shut up." I heard him sigh but he didn't fight me on the matter. I wet my chapped lips with my tongue, taking in a deep breath in order to summon the courage I needed in order to say what I wanted to say. My heart was pounding. "Can it just be a date?" I asked finally, my voice small.

There was a beat of silence.

I almost panicked at the lack of response but then –

"Yeah, I'd really like that."

I woke up a few hours later on the floor, my face using the pile of yesterday's clothes as a make-shift pillow. I had been too tired to crawl back to bed after my phone call with James was over.

…My phone call with James.

James.

I have a date on Thursday.

I have a date…on Thursday.

A date.

On Thursday.

Thursday…

Holy fucking shit I have a date on Thursday!

Oh yeah, that's right, look who went from being Jan Brady to Marsha!

TAKE THAT GRETCHEN FORBES, I AM AWESOME.

…

A bit much?

So anyway, once James and I had actually admitted to one another that we wanted this next gathering to be a real, official date (OH MY GOD!) we decided on Thursday. This was because on Monday James was celebrating his birthday with his mates, and on Tuesday he had to help out his grandma with something. I pretended to be busy on Wednesday just so that it seemed like I had a life too; I'll probably just go bother Mr. Carlson or rope Robyn into helping me pick out an outfit.

But still, can you believe it? I'm going on a date! With James!

It was almost too good to be true; I almost felt as if the universe was going to cause something terrible to happen just for the balance of things.

Because that _would_ happen to me.

And you know what? Everything was probably going to be a-okay until I said that; I probably just jinxed it.

I am never riding the bus ever again; I am lucky to be _alive_, damn it.

And so what if I am exaggerating?

But it fucking _sucked_, dude. I mean, first of all, I looked like a complete idiot because I had such an enormous bag with me that took up its own seat in all its gigantic glory. I swear, it was huge; it was almost as big as me. Robyn just _had_ to insist that I bring four different outfits with me.

So that was the first issue.

But even worse than looking like a right git for not making room for the pregnant lady, I had two preteen blokes sitting behind me – which is basically the equivalent to capital punishment, if you know what I mean.

Newsflash arseholes, you're on public transportation; no one wants to hear about your wanking habits. Just thought I'd let you know.

But they seemed to think that it was a subject that highly interested me and thus continued their discussion the entire time. I thought about telling them to stop but I didn't think it'd do any good so I tried to ignore them and not get worked up about it.

That was the second issue.

But even worse than a headache induced by intense sound-blocking, the Barbie Girl sitting in front of me, was talking loudly and obnoxiously on her phone.

Just for your information, Barbie Girl, the "WT" in "WTF" stands for "What the." Therefore it is not necessary for you to say, "What the WTF?" You sound like a moron. And besides, what is this? 2009? Why the bloody hell are you using acronyms? Nowadays we say things like "What the fuck?" Get with the program, lady.

That was the third issue.

But even worse than losing all faith in the intelligence of humanity, the hobo man sitting in the seat diagonally from me, wouldn't stop staring at me.

Words cannot describe how uncomfortable and sketchy this was for me. I mean, he didn't even have the decency to be discreet about it.

That was the fourth – and extremely creepy – issue.

Let me tell you, after about seven minutes, I was about ready to jump out the window of that bus.

When salvation finally came, I got off faster than you could say "What the hell is a Non-Muggle" and I kid you not. The doors opened and I was _gone_.

Once I made it to Robyn's house, I banged on her front door obnoxiously until she finally answered.

"Oh thank _God_," I cried at the sight of her in the doorway. "I have just been to hell and back."

I know that I tend to be on the dramatic side at times, but I really meant what I said this time.

"You certainly look it," Robyn replied, her eyes surveying me. "You're hair's a _mess_."

…

I stared at her blankly. "What's wrong with my hair?"

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh…nothing. Never mind – forget I said anything. Why don't you come inside?" She stepped aside to make room for me.

I didn't move an inch, eyeing her suspiciously. "Seriously, what's wrong with it?"

She bit her lip guiltily. "It's a bit on the frizzy side…but it's not bad," she added hastily.

Instead of freaking out, I nodded in understanding. "That tends to happen in the presence of stupid people."

Robyn joined me in my little nodding marathon. "Must be an allergic reaction of sorts."

"Indeed."

We stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"Robyn?"

"Yeah?"

"How would you feel about becoming one of my followers?"

She raised an eyebrow. It was clear by her expression that she was very amused and perplexed by my statement. "Followers? Who are you trying to be? Jesus?"

I rolled my eyes. "Uh, _no_, Sergeant Hasty; let's not jump to conclusions here. I am not proposing that you become one of my _disciples_, but simply a _follower_."

She folded her arms across her chest, eyebrow still arched. "And what exactly does that entail?"

"Following me around and laughing at all of the stupid shit I say."

I couldn't help but join in with the fit of giggles that erupted following my statement; Robyn's laugh can do that sort of thing to you.

Flushed red from cracking up so hard, Robyn stared at me in a way that made me think that she was questioning my sanity. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

I took a moment to really think about her question, but eventually just shrugged. "Dunno. It just comes to me."

Smiling, Robyn shook her head, as if unsure of what to make of me. I couldn't say that I blamed her; sometimes even _I_ didn't know. She turned around and headed inside, motioning for me to follow.

As we ascended the stairs (with great difficulty on my part do to the enormity of my bag), she asked, "So why couldn't we have done this at your house again?"

I sighed. I had already explained this on the phone. "Because, Ro-_byn_, my mum is tempted to commit homicide by the mere sight of me as of late. I'm trying to not fuel the fire by making myself as scarce as possible." I sounded like a woman going into labor by the heaviness of my breathing. At moments like these, I am always thinking to myself, "Oh, hey, I should probably start going to the gym and build some muscles so I don't keel over the next time I do heavy lifting." But alas, I have enough difficulty _spelling_ the word "exercise" never mind actually going out of my way to do it, so I don't think it'll be happening any time soon.

At the sight of my struggle, Robyn grabbed my bag and heaved it the rest of the way up the stairs – with some difficulty but her muscle work was not anywhere near as pathetic as mine. I skipped to the top behind her. After making it to the second landing, Robyn dropped my bag on the floor and we collapsed onto the carpet to rest.

Such weaklings, we are.

"Well, was it really necessary to call her a child molester?" she asked me after a few moments of catching her breath.

I felt a pang of emotion that I vaguely recognized as guilt flow through me. I tried to ignore the feeling and simply shrugged. "I suppose not, but maybe she'll feel disgusted with herself and then break things off. Trust me; it's for the greater good."

She scrutinized me for a minute; I squirmed a bit under her gaze. "But don't you think you just hurt her feelings?"

I gave her a 'whose-side-are-you-on?' look. "Yeah, well, she hurt _mine_ when she said that Chester didn't like me."

She sighed heavily. "Not the same thing."

"You know, you're a shit follower, Robyn."

"Yeah, but I'm a good mate."

I suppose that it was pretty stubborn of me not to want to admit that she was right. I don't know, sometimes I guess that I just liked making my mum the bad guy; having someone to blame things on just made it easier.

We sat for a moment in silence – which was weird for us; we never did things like that. It made me a bit uncomfortable to be perfectly honest.

I cleared my throat. "You wanna see the clothes I brought?"

Robyn smiled. "You bet."

I should have known that I'd never get to actually try anything on. It was actually pretty stupid of me not to have seen it coming; of course Robyn would think that everything that I had brought over was complete shit. I mean, she _was_ the fashionista between the two of us. Robyn's style was the kind that you'd ask Santa for, for Christmas – all awesome and fashionable. At times, I had the tendency to feel like a kid next to her because she was always wearing sophisticated things like blazers and jewelry while I was in an old jumper and beat up trainers.

I had never really cared much about what I wore, but I did try for this, I really did. I just didn't own first date appropriate clothes, apparently.

I watched warily from the sidelines as Robyn rummaged through my bag, throwing article after article of clothing onto the floor, muttering things like "Unacceptable," and "Really, Spencer? _Really?_" She even threw out a pair of patterned leggings, declaring them to be the ugliest thing she had ever had the misfortune of laying her eyes on.

I guess this means that I lack in the fashion department more than I previously thought I did.

Which also really sucks because I _really_ liked those leggings.

Once the bag was completely empty with all of the clothes I had spent a solid ten minutes picking out scattered on the carpet (except the leggings – RIP), Robyn rounded on me. "Could you be any more of an amateur? It's like you've never been on a date before!"

"Actually…"

She threw her hands up in the air. "I know you've never been on a date before! But you don't need to make it so bloody obvious!"

I threw myself onto one of the many piles of clothes on the floor; there were so many that I bounced a bit upon impact. _"Then what the hell am I supposed to wear?"_ I cried, tugging my fingers through my hair – which had grown severely in volume due to the frizz.

Robyn put a finger to her chin, staring at something I couldn't see. "I guess you'll have to wear something of mine."

My head snapped up. "Really?" I asked, the mere idea of it making me absurdly giddy.

She rolled her eyes in response to my excitement, a slight smile on her lips. Although it had always flattered her that I thought she had great style, she never really understood my small obsession with her closet (IT WAS A WALK-IN!) – which I suddenly realized was the thing she was staring at. "Uh-huh."

"Fuck yeah!"

I hopped up from my place on the floor, breaking into a dance that looked like something you'd see in _Napoleon Dynamite_. Robyn raised her eyebrows and laughed at how ridiculous I was being. But I really couldn't help it; I was just so excited! Getting to wear Robyn's clothes was like finding a cure for cancer: insanely _awesome_.

When opening her closet door, I insisted that Robyn do it in slow motion so as to make the action more dramatic and I set the tone of the grand opening by adding some background music in my best soprano voice.

"_Ahhhhh ahhhh ah ahhhh AHHHHHH –"_

"Oh my God, why are you singing?!" Robyn simultaneously appeared to be questioning our friendship and to be on the verge of peeing her pants.

"I thought it deserved a bit of fanfare – sorry. Proceed."

After shaking her head from side-to-side, muttering the word "weirdo," she opened the door at regular speed. It was pretty spacious – probably as large as the bathroom at my mum's house. Everywhere you looked there were shoes, handbags, belts, dresses, rompers, shirts, skirts, jeans, blazers – anything you could possibly need on any occasion. Just one look into its fashion glory and I had died and gone to heaven. Seriously, I was practically salivating.

"I love you, Robyn," I sighed dreamily, turning to her a giving her a suggestive wink.

She gave me a light shove, laughing as she did so. "Save it for James."

And of course I turned bright red.

"Oi! You can't just say shit that! Robyn! _Robyn!_"

But wasn't listening to me; she was heading into the depths of her closet, smirking at my obvious embarrassment.

Somebody doesn't like to play very fair. And the someone to which I am referring to, name rhymes with Dobyn. Three guesses for who I'm talking about. Shouldn't be too difficult, I think.

"Are you coming or what?"

I peered into the closet and saw Robyn standing in the middle of it with her hands on her hips. She was raising her eyebrows at me expectantly.

I gave her a salute and joined her inside.

We spent the rest of the day in that closet, Robyn dressing me in outfit after outfit until finally:

"That's _the one_," she breathed.

And I looked into the mirror and knew that she was right.


	13. Disaster

I believe that I have some substantial evidence backing up my theory of having the six-sense. No, I cannot see dead people, but rather have the uncanny ability to predict when the universe is going to take a shit on my life. It happens too often for comfort.

I didn't want to be right this time, but I was. Spencer's Life Sucks, Episode DCXLVII. My terrible luck strikes again.

And you know what? I feel cheated. Today was supposed to be a good day. Today I was supposed to wake up to fucking birds singing, the sun gloriously shining into my room, eat an exquisite helping of Lucky Charms for breakfast, put on the outfit Robyn let me borrow, and stare at the clock for hours upon hours until James picked me up for our date.

But no, the universe had other plans for me.

Instead, I woke in a pool of my own blood, there was no sun but rather it was pouring outside, I found a huge zit on the center of my forehead while washing my hands in the bathroom, discovered that Fucktard Freddy had finished the Lucky Charms while I was at Robyn's yesterday, wished that Robyn's outfit had included sweats instead of a tight skirt, and had cramps so bad that I was delirious enough to consider calling James and rescheduling.

I hate my life, I really do.

It was around five o'clock in the afternoon – an hour and a half until date-time – when my mum found me. I was lying on the bathroom floor; the coolness of the tiles felt good against the side of my burning face.

"Spencer, dear? Are you okay?" She addressed me softly and cautiously as if speaking to a hurt animal.

"Leave me to die in peace, woman." I drew my legs closer to my body forming something that slightly resembled the fetal position. I can't really explain it, but this pose made the cramps less painful. I was kind of hoping that my mum would leave me to my misery, but knew that she would never do such a thing. At times like these, she liked to show off her medical wisdom by lecturing me about health, and reminiscing about her days as a medicine major. I was never sure if this was her way of reminding me that she could have been a rich pediatrician instead of a receptionist in a pediatrician's office if she didn't get pregnant with me and had completed medical school. And considering that this little swerve off the course of her life plan resulted in my existence, I can't really say that I was all that sorry.

My mum gave me one of her oh-you-little-scamp type smiles that looked a bit on the forced side if you asked me. I think my personality reminded her too much of my dad at times. "Why don't you take some Midol? I'm always telling you to take Midol. Here, let me go get you some."

"No need – already took four." Worthless piece of shit, too. Five minutes after taking it and I still felt like gutting myself with my toothbrush.

"_Four?"_ she shrieked.

I lifted my head off the floor, slightly started by her reaction. "What?"

She looked positively mad; her hands fisted in her hair and a slight twitch to her wide eyes. To be perfectly honest, it was a bit alarming. "Spencer! You're only supposed to take two! How many times am I supposed to tell you that before you actually listen?"

"Er…a lot?"

This clearly wasn't the answer she was looking for.

"You know, Spencer, one day you are going to take too much of the wrong medication and it's going to kill you! You are lucky to have someone like me around who knows what they're talking about when it comes to this sort of thing and you don't even listen to any of the things I say! When I was in medical school, I knew a girl who took too much of her medication –"

"Was it Midol?"

"Not the point! But she overdosed and _died!_ Do you want to die and have me sobbing 'I told you so' over your grave? _Do you?_ Because I certainly don't! That's why you have to listen to me! But you don't! And on top of that, you don't even read the bottle's instructions on the proper dose!"

You know, as I lay there practically dying, the last thing I wanted was to be lectured. I knew that I messed up and all, but she didn't have to be such a bitch about it and rub it in my face.

My eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well, sorry if it's a bit difficult for me to read on the days that I am continuously bleeding from my –"

"Spencer!"

I rolled my eyes and hugged my knees closer to my chest as another wave of pain swam through my abdomen. "So what's the verdict, doctor? Am I gonna make it?" I asked sardonically.

I have the tendency to be a bit of a smartarse when I'm menstruating.

My mum stared down at me long and hard but I didn't waver under her gaze. "You'll be fine; a bit hyper, maybe."

My eyebrows furrowed together. "But I don't feel hyper."

"Just give it a few minutes."

It's a really nice day outside today; couldn't have been nicer! Don't you agree? IT'S SO NICE OUT. I love summer, I mean, it's the greatest season of them all and – PANCAKES. I SMELL PANCAKES. I DON'T KNOW WHY I SMELL PANCAKES BUT I LOVE PANCAKES – I mean, winter is ugly and, like, too cold to function; fall is all yucky-poo; and during spring, it's not summer. Therefore summer is the best and, like, way more awesome. PLUS THERE'S THE BEACH; I LOVE THE BEACH. Except, you know, the constant threat of sharks. I don't like sharks; they're scary. But I watch Shark Week every year because I believe in knowing your enemy. AND SHARKS ARE THE ENEMY. I especially like watching the jumping sharks. Despite my deep dislike towards sharks, it's really cool to watch. They just jump into the air and go WHOOSH –

"Spencer, would you _stop_ that?"

My internal rambling and shaking leg came to an immediate halt and I looked up at my mother from my seat on the couch. It was weird; I didn't remember her ever being in the room with me. Based off of her expression, I couldn't tell if she was more mad at me or just plain weirded out from whatever gesture I was doing that offended her. But nonetheless, I really couldn't say that the look she was giving me was all that comforting. "Stop what?"

"Muttering under your breath like that; you sound like a mental patient."

"Oh." That was also weird; I didn't think I was saying all that stuff out loud. I knew that ever since my mum pulled me off the bathroom floor and made me somewhat presentable for my date by doing my hair and make-up for me as well as helping me get dressed, I felt a bit off. There was this strange stirring inside me, a spark, an energy threatening to boil over. My mind was racing; I couldn't sit still. My skin felt tingly and as if my spirit was going to burst from its seams. But there was nothing I could do about it so I just kind of shrugged and my leg resumed its previous rhythm.

"And stop bouncing your leg up and down!"

I stopped abruptly. "Okay."

…And when they jump, they go WHOOSH and then BAM – they're back in the water and it's just SO COOL to watch. It almost makes sharks cool but then again, they eat seals and they're really ugly – SO UGLY. And they –

"Spencer, I thought I told you to stop muttering under your breath!"

I blinked. I had been doing it again and I hadn't even realized it.

"Oh. Sorry."

My leg began to bounce again.

"Spencer! I _thought_ I –"

Suddenly, the explosion my body seemed to be waiting for:

"PICK ONE OR THE OTHER, WOMAN; I CAN'T STOP BOTH!"

My mum's eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. "Oh, dear, that Midol has really gotten to you, hasn't it?"

"I FEEL LIKE I CAN RUN AROUND THE HOUSE FOURTEEN AND A HALF TIMES!"

"Why fourteen and _a half?_"

"PANCAKES!"

There was a moment of complete silence where we just stared at each other, neither of us saying anything. My heart was beating frantically, my body twitching every few seconds while my mum was just frozen in place, staring at me with a worried expression. Her eyes were wide and she was so still that she could have been made out of wax.

Which probably should have been creepy but in the meantime, all I could do was convulse every three seconds and think about pancakes.

This was such an odd sensation – a totally mind fuck that I wouldn't recommend. I mean, I was pretty hyper on a regular basis, but not anywhere near this severe. I constantly felt like I needed to be in two places at once and my mind was racing with more thoughts than my brain could handle. It was like being on the verge of spontaneous combustion and it driving me _mad_.

The beat of silence was soon broken by the sound of the doorbell ringing, to which we each jumped about a foot into the air in surprise. Our eyes wide locked.

Shit. No. _No, no, no, no, no_. Not _now_. Not when I'm like this!

"It's him!" I whispered in horror, my arms lifting into the air in a spastic jerk, nearly succeeding in smacking myself in the face.

I am so full of win.

I looked frantically around the room, blood pressure rising, looking for something to hit myself over the head with; maybe if I knocked myself out, he'd have to leave. I lunged for the lamp…

…But was intercepted by my mum.

That woman knows me too well.

"Okay, calm down," my mum whispered in a way that reminded me of a police officer talking to a wacko with a gun. The lamp was held out of my reach and behind her back. "Don't panic." It was clear that she was still a bit freaked from my outburst but she was prepared to take charge. "You stay right here and I'll go get the door. Do you have enough tampons?"

I nodded my head up and down, up and down as my body overheated from nerves. I was now walking around the coffee table in a circle, my hands fisted in my hair, just for the sake of doing something. I felt sick to my stomach and I suddenly had the urge to pee even though I had already gone not even ten minutes ago.

This was going to be an interesting evening.

With a final nod in my direction, my mum left the living room to greet the leading man of the motion picture of an evening's disaster that was soon to ensue. My heart pounded against my chest with astonishing power, nearly breaking through my ribcage and bruising all in which it made contact with, as my ears listened for movement. Seconds later I heard the familiar creak of the front door and I froze in place, overcome with the sensation I usually get when playing Hide and Seek. You know, the one when the person who's It is only a few meters away from where you're hiding? That odd mixture of adrenaline and the feeling that you're going to piss and shit your pants simultaneously?

Just me?

Huh.

How…awkward.

_Anyway_, my mum opened the door and I could hear the faint sounds of pleasantries being exchanged and my heart nearly exploded. I started doing the Pee Dance in place – but not because I had to pee (the sensation had passed), but rather that I couldn't, for the life of me, stand still.

But I was actually pretty proud of my mum; she hadn't been too thrilled about the date with James when I first told her about it because of the whole Ned Knickerbocker thing but from what I could tell, she was acting very cheerfully and politely towards him. I was quite impressed, I have to say – a bit confused, as well. I mean, my mum isn't afraid to give you the Stink Eye if she thinks you deserve it and believe me, anyone who severed the relationship between myself and the still imaginary Ned Knickerbocker deserved to be given the Stink Eye, according to her.

Maybe she was charmed into Play Doh by his incredible good looks.

If that was the case, I couldn't really say that I blamed her. And I was too hyped up on Midol to really be mad about it anyway.

I was soon forced to snap out of my thoughts by the sound of my name. My mum had called it from the door, her voice tentative. After wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, exiting the living room and entering the foyer.

Scariest four seconds of my life.

…Except not really.

The scariest moment of my life was probably the solid minute and a half that I thought I had gone blind because my eyelashes were stuck together.

Going to sleep without taking my mascara off? Never again.

_Anywho_.

Even though it wasn't _the_ scariest moment of my life, it definitely made the Top Five. I felt like I was walking the plank or something equally horrify like being force-fed asparagus. Yeah, _that bad_. It was like I was on my way to the fucking gallows. This, I felt, was a bit wrong seeing that I was actually going to greet my date, not be karate chopped in the gut the moment I entered the room. But I couldn't help the feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of my stomach. And to add to my heap of issues, I also felt like running around the room twelve times – and then some. All of my impulses were mixed up; my body seemed to be torn as to what to do. So maybe it _wasn't_ the scariest moment of my life, but it was certainly the most bizarre.

When I entered the foyer, I vaguely saw my mum beaming at me like a psychopath – yep, she was definitely high off of the Sexilicious-Bloke Drug – but once my eyes found James, they didn't seem to want to look away. My mum wasn't in the room anymore – just me and him. From the way his black shirt had been haphazardly tucked into his black jeans, to the blue, button-down over shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, and to the way he had clearly tried to flatten his hair with no avail (the evidence was in the various strands that were still sticking up), he was a mess, but he was perfect. Not classic perfect-perfect, but my kind of perfect.

Aside from looking mega hot, the semi casualness of his outfit made me feel better about mine. Robyn had loaned me this fabulous ensemble of what others would probably call clothing but what was really woven genius, but unfortunately, it had to be slightly altered in order to accommodate my current situation. I had opted out of wearing the black lace leggings for bare legs and swapped the killer heels for a pair of clean-ish trainers (alright, so there was _some_ dried up mud on them from a legendary Man Hunt game). I knew that the outfit had been degraded from sexy to cute by doing this, but given the circumstances, one of them had to go: the period or the heels. And seeing that the period wasn't going to going away for a few more days, the heels had been victimized to the confinements of my closet.

But James wasn't dressed super fancy so maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad. Maybe we'd ride off into the sunset bobbing our heads up and down and singing show tunes. And maybe my tampon will hold its end of the bargain and my evening would end without a bloodstain on the back of my skirt.

And in the end, that's all a girl could really ask for.

James's eyes locked with mine and wide, goofy smiles spread across our faces simultaneously. God, we're idiots. I took a few steps forward.

"HI!"

…That was much louder than I had intended it to be.

James quirked an amused eyebrow at me, his smile morphing into a smirk as my face began to heat up. "Hi," he replied in a _normal_, perfectly _reasonable_ volume.

Ihatemylife. Ihatemylife. Ihatemylife.

I wished that I could just blame it on the Midol (goddamn Midol) but then I'd have to tell him about my period and that would just be _stup_-

"You'll have to excuse, Spencer. She's a bit on the hyper side this evening," my mum chimed in. I eyed her suspiciously – unsure of where she was going with this but couldn't seem to catch her eye. "You see, her cramps took a turn for the worst so she took some Midol. Unfortunately, she took too much so if she experiences any dizziness, fatigue, or any signs of an overdose, would you be a dear and take her to the emergency room?"

…You have got to be kidding me.

WHAT IS MY LIFE?!

I stared at the daft woman before me in horror. In what universe was this a good idea? Was she out of her fucking _mind?_ To most blokes, the mention of 'cramps' and 'Midol' would mean nothing, but James had a sister! _He had a bloody sister!_ He knew exactly what 'cramps' and 'Midol' meant!

The heavy silence that followed was a testimony to my thoughts. In the corner of my eye, I saw that James was pink in the face and running a nervous hand through his hair, causing it to stick up all over the place. "Er, sure," he said uncomfortably.

I wanted to die; I was so unbelievably humiliated. And it wasn't even my fault this time! I had a heavy feeling in my chest and an overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Why me? Why couldn't my life have been normal and relatively uneventful like everyone else's? Why did my life have to be a major load of suck?

I wasn't sure how to fix the mess that I didn't create, how to salvage the moment. So I did the only thing I could think of: I ran out the door.

I mean, I didn't actually _go_ anywhere, but I did run out the door. And I went down the porch steps, down the stone path, and sat down on the ground, placing my arse on my mum's flowerbeds.

Die, motherfuckers, _die_.

I positioned myself in a way so that I was squishing as many as humanly possible, knowing that this particular act of spite was strategically the most brilliant as my mum practically nursed her red geraniums like a mother bird. This was as close to a verbal "fuck you," as I was gonna get.

Settled among the flowers, I drew my knees close to my chest and put my face into my hands. I wasn't going to cry because that was for later when James was gone for certain and I was alone in my room to wallow in my own misery. In the meantime I just needed to breathe, to slow the alarming pace of my heartbeat, to calm down my person enough to the point where I could stop shaking my legs.

This Midol thing – along with the eager help of my mother – was ruining my life.

Only mere seconds had passed when I heard the sound of footsteps following my path to the flowerbeds and stop before me.

"You know, I'm no longer sorry that I called you a child molester," I told her. The sound was slightly muffled by my hands but my message was easily understood. And I really meant it; I wasn't sorry at all. I really wasn't. And I didn't think that anything she said would change that.

"I think that title would be more fitting for yourself seeing that you're the older one."

My heart gave a start and I slowly parted my fingers, viewing the world through the tiny slits the separation created. Standing before me was not my mum, as the deep-man voice had previously indicated, but rather James Potter. He was a few meters back, his hand fisted in the back of his hair, and a small, nervous smile on his lips.

He didn't leave. James didn't leave. I couldn't believe it. Could he be anymore awesome? My heart swelled at the sight of him and I had to restrain myself from jumping up and tackling him.

I've got enough shit on my plate; the last thing I need is a sexual harassment charge.

"Only by three months," I muttered under my breath after I got over the initial shock of him staying.

I just couldn't believe it. He was really there.

But after the words left my lips, I was reminded of what had transpired inside and suddenly couldn't bear to look at him anymore, my face heating up at the memory. My spread out fingers fanned shut over my eyes, masking James completely and secluding me to the darkness once more.

"Oh, c'mon Spencer," he sighed, and I heard some movement take place in front on me. Before I really knew what was happening, warm fingers encircled my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. James was crouched down on the ground, his chest centimeters away from touching my knees. He looked a bit uncomfortable but didn't slacken his grip on me. "Look, I know that you're embarrassed –"

"That's a bit of an understatement," I murmured softly, hyperly aware of the skin-on-skin contact. My wrists felt a bit tingly in the places that he touched.

"Alright," he said, probably a bit unsure of how to respond to my comment. "But I get it – don't necessarily want to know about it – but I get it."

This may come as a bit of a shock, but this pep-talk wasn't exactly making me feel any better…

But no matter what shade of red my face turned, James would have none of it. There was a spark of determination in his brown eyes that didn't seem likely to die down anytime soon. "I mean, whether I like it or not, I'm kind of around it a lot. My sister turns into a fire breathing dragon once a month and I have loads of girl cousins who are the same way. Just…calm down, I dunno, take a chill pill and we'll be on our way. Okay?"

I don't know why, but I just burst out laughing. His efforts to make me feel better we admittedly adorable. "Chill pill? James, I don't really think I should be mixing medications."

He snorted. "You're so weird."

Threading his fingers through mine, he pulled me from my sitting position on the ground and we walked hand-in-hand down the driveway, him leading the way to the mystery location of our date.

And somehow I knew that we were gonna be okay.

In the days leading up to this moment, I had envisioned various different scenarios of what my date with James would be like; I don't know why, but I figured that he'd take me someplace unconventional or someplace with some poetry to it. Someplace where we could wreck havoc and just revel in the simplicity of the moment. It was all I could have ever wanted, and I don't know, maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he just seemed like that sort of bloke.

So I guess you can imagine my utter dismay as I stood outside with James, still hand-in-hand, the warm summer breeze tickling my skin, before what looked like a completely _fancy_ and a completely _French_ restaurant.

I don't want to say that I was disappointed, but if I was being completely honest, I kind of was. I knew that it shouldn't have mattered where we went, I was with _James_ after all, but this wasn't at all what I had expected or hoped for.

I just never thought of myself as a restaurant-taking type of girl; perhaps it was the arrogant part of me that thought I was way too interesting for that sort of thing, but in reality, it wasn't at all me. I was never the sitting-still type and the jitteriness I had acquired from the Midol only made it worse.

And you know what? I was a bit ticked off at James for not telling me that we were going to this place; whether I wanted to eat dinner there or not, I was completely underdressed – and I still would have been if I had stuck with Robyn's original outfit. I mean, you just don't do that sort of thing to a girl, you just _don't_.

I quickly snuck a peek at James in the corner of my eye, not really sure what I was looking for and what I was going to see. He was eyeing the restaurant with as much apprehension as I had been a few seconds before, completely frozen to the spot. Judging by his reaction and his own lacking in the fancy clothes department, it appeared that this hadn't been what he had expected either which thoroughly confused me.

"Fucking Denny," I was surprised to hear him mutter, seeing as I had no idea who Denny was and why James was cursing his name. Snapping out of some sort of reverie, he turned his head to face me, catching my eye, and giving me an uneasy smile. "Er, I guess we should go inside."

I nodded. "Yes, I guess that's normal protocol when arriving at a restaurant."

"Yeah, I guess."

We didn't move. We looked back at the restaurant, wearing identical grimaces. Sounds of clinking plates and silverware and a blur of mindless chatter emitted from the opening and closing doors as people entered and exited the building, each person clad in some glamorous ensemble that couldn't be anything less than designer. The longer we stood there in stunned silence, I could have sworn that I identified an orchestral quartet mixed in there somewhere with the boisterous sounds, making my skin crawl. I don't know why, but that factor made it ten times worse.

"We should probably go inside," James murmured again, almost robotically, and my response, a stiff nod, was just as forced.

"Yeah…"

I don't know how much time passed before we actually thawed from our frozen states and propelled ourselves forward, one foot in from of the other. We went inside and it was just as horrible as I'd imagined.

Upon entrance, I first had the displeasure of practically being blinded, as the ceiling harbored a copious amount of chandeliers, the hanging crystal reflecting bright, white light across the crowded room. It gave the place a dreamland, regal quality, like it wasn't even real or within my reach. Everything looked fragile, as if the moment I reached to touch something, my mum would appear out of thin air and swat my hand away, reminding me that if I break it, I buy it. The walls and overhead mural were lined with beautiful, expensive art of noble looking people, grand landscapes, and naked angels playing the harp that looked almost majestic as they watched the people seated at the circular, white clothed tables eat. And of course, in the corner of the dinning hall, there was an orchestral quartet.

What a fucking nightmare.

The people seated in nearby tables were eyeing us in a questioning manner as we slowly edged towards the haughty looking maitre d' – which I couldn't really say that I blamed them. If I was a high society woman, I'd probably be wondering what two scrappy looking teenagers were doing in this restaurant, as well. Actually, as a scrappy looking teenager, I was kind of wondering the same thing.

The maitre d' was tapping his foot in a rather condescending matter as James and I grudgingly made our way over, his nicely groomed eyebrow raised as he examined us from head to toe. "Bonjour," he drawled unenthusiastically in a thick French accent when we stopped in front of him. "Ve do not take valk eenz," he said dismissively.

Now, I had no idea if we had a reservation or not, and believe me, I would much rather that we didn't so that we could blow this popsicle stand, but what the crap? How dare he talk down to us like that just because we don't buy from Chanel or bleach our arseholes once a bloody month! _How about you go back to the science lab you were manufactured in over in France mother fucker!_

GOD I HATE PEOPLE.

As I fumed silently, I felt James's grip on my hand tighten considerably, causing me to snap out of my thoughts of homicide and deportation. Out of the corner of my eye, I could visibly see his anger in his body language. He was standing straighter, taller, as if to intimidate and his jaw was set and his eyes narrowed.

…

I don't think I've ever been more attracted to James. Holy fucking shit, is it hot in here or what? I mean, don't get me wrong, he always looked good and right now, he looked fucking scary – if I was on the receiving end of that look, I'd be shitting my pants – but damn, he was just radiating sexy. If we had been dating steady for a year and I wasn't such a virginal prude, I would pull him into the loo and have my way with him.

"We have a reservation," James replied tightly. "Six-thirty. Dursley."

…Okay, who the fuck is Dursley?

I wanted to catch James's eye and somehow convey my confusion to him telepathically but he was a bit preoccupied with the staring duel he was having with the maitre d' – whose eyebrow was still raised. Didn't the muscles in his face ever get tired from doing that so much and sustaining it for such a long time?

Eventually, the maitre d' – or Gustave as his golden-plaited name tag identified him as – had to forfeit his position in the staring contest in order to check the reservation list. He scanned through the names, until his eyes settled on one at the bottom of the page. He looked back up at us. I didn't like the smug, snooty expression on his face.

"You are twelve minitz late for your rezervation Meester..." He looked back down at the reservation list. "Durzley."

I was getting close to losing circulation in my hand. "Well, we're here now," James snapped back.

"Er, James," I whispered softly. He blinked in surprise and turned to look down at me. Something about this told me that he had forgotten that I was even there – which I found weird considering the death grip he had on my hand. "You're hurting…" I trailed off and looked down at our entwined fingers hoping that he'd get the message.

"Oh! Sorry." His grip immediately slackened on my hand and I was immediately graced with the beauty that is regular blood flow. But that was nothing compared to the light circles James was tracing on my skin with his thumb – that felt heavenly.

We both brought our attention back to the maitre d', gazing at him expectantly – we did have a reservation after all. How could he deny us our seats?

Gustave sighed. "Zis vay pleaze." He motioned for us to follow him as he turned to lead the way.

I gave James the thumbs up. "We have infiltrated the vicinity – success!"

James snorted and gave my hand a light squeeze. "We better go follow him."

It became very clear that Gustave was a man of spite; the French bastard sat us at the table over by the loo – not exactly the restaurant hot spot. It was the loudest portion of the dining hall with the flushing of toilets sounding like clockwork, and the men's room door kept hitting the back of my chair as people walked in and out. After the third time, James insisted that I switch seats with him.

Our waiter, Emile, was pretty nice. He, too, had a thick accent, but it came without the hoity-toity attitude that was a package deal for Gustave, which was pretty ace; I was very grateful for that. As at hot as it was, I didn't think it would be good if James got into an altercation with our waiter.

James and I ordered our drinks and sat in silence as we looked over the menu, making the occasional small talk, but we generally didn't say anything. I didn't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this date wasn't going very well, but I tried to ignore it because the moment I started to think about it, a pang of emotion would flow through me. And if I let that take over, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stop myself from crying.

I instead tried to focus on my meal, but I was at a total loss as to what to order; everything was in French and there weren't any pictures to help me out. I snuck a peek at James; he didn't look like he was doing any better than me.

When Emile came over to take our orders, I had a mini panic attack because I still had no idea what I was going to get. So when he asked me, I just pointed to the least expensive thing on the menu, after a few failed attempts at pronouncing it. James didn't even bother to try to say it and went straight to the pointing.

After Emile left, I asked, "So what did you get?"

James just shrugged. "I have no idea. You?"

"Not a clue."

James nodded half-heartedly, something else seeming to be on his mind. I wasn't sure if it'd be pushy or nosey of me to ask what it was so I remained silent.

After a few minutes, James cleared his throat. "Spencer?"

I looked up from the table. "Yeah?"

"You wanna get out of here and get some fish and chips instead?"

My blue eyes locked with his brown, my heart stopping almost completely in my chest. Maybe the evening wouldn't be a complete disaster. "Yeah," I breathed. "I'd really like that."

James's mouth twitched and a few seconds later stretched into a wide smile that just about matched mine in its ridiculousness. Reaching into his pocket, James pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the table – it took everything in me not to offer to split the bill – and he stood up, grabbed my hand and we were on our way, James navigating in the lead through the maze of tables.

Once we made it outside, we simultaneously burst into laughter – I'm not entirely sure why. "That place was so ridiculous," I wheezed, clutching the stitch in my side from laughing so hard.

"I'm sorry about that," James laughed. "My cousin made the reservation. He conveniently forgot to mention that the place was so _refined_ and that the maitre d' had a stick up his arse."

"Speaking of your arsehole cousins, Freddy ate all of my Lucky Charms. I'm going to _kill_ him for that."

"I'll be sure to convey the message."

We were silent for a moment, breathing in and out, catching our breath from laughing so hard when something occurred to me. "Say, how come you had your cousin make the reservation for you? Couldn't think of any place to take me?"

James shook his head. "Actually, there were loads of places I wanted to take you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then why didn't you?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, they were all places that only wiz – I mean, Non-Muggles go to, so I couldn't exactly take you there, you know? And Denny's a Muggle so I thought he might know of someplace good to take you." He laughed without humor. "Clearly not."

I stared at James for a moment. The fact that he had put a lot of thought in this – no matter how disastrous the results – was really adorable. I couldn't help but smile. But something about what he said was bothering me. "I don't understand," I said. "If you're a Non-Muggle, how can your cousin be a Muggle?"

"Er, it's a bit complicated."

And complicated, it was. Upon my request, James went into full detail about what he called 'blood-statuses.' There were the 'purebloods,' the 'halfbloods' and the 'Muggle-borns' who were sometimes called 'mudbloods' by those who were prejudice against people of that birth. He told me about his mum's side of the family which was considerably less complicated because they were all purebloods – except for a few of his aunts by marriage. His dad's side was more intricate. His grandfather was a pure-blood who married a Muggle-born, making his dad a halfblood. And even though it didn't mathematically make sense, his dad being a halfblood and his mum being a pureblood made James and his siblings halfbloods.

And since his grandmum was a Muggle-born, all of her family were Muggles – Denny included.

"I think that would have made a lot more sense if I knew what Non-Muggles were," I laughed, once James had finished his longwinded explanation.

He smiled. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Why can't you just tell me?" I pleaded. "You _know_ it's killing me."

James ran a hand through his hair. "And you know that I want to –"

"I actually didn't; I thought you enjoyed watching me fail at guessing."

"That's also true." This was met with a feeble punch to the arm. "Hey! You can't blame me for enjoying that. Your guesses were so bad." Another punch. "Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry – just stop hitting me." I gave him one more punch for good measure and let go of his hand, walking down the sidewalk with my arms folded across my chest and a pout on my face. James caught my arm and stopped me mid-step. I looked up to see that his face was much more serious than it had been previously. "I want to tell you, I really do. It's just in my world we have rules against that sort of thing. I have to really know you before I take that step."

I guess it wouldn't be proper Spencer Lockwood etiquette if I didn't answer that with a severe case of word vomit.

"Oh, so explaining what a Non-Muggle is on the first date is like sex on the first date: you just don't do it."

I wanted to die; it was forty-seven thousand times worse than what my mum had said to James about my period. Forty-seven _thousand_. Why did this sort of thing always happen to me? I wasn't a bad person; sure, I stole a piece of chocolate from a classmate of mine's lunchbox in primary school but that didn't warrant a lifetime of sporadic _hell_. I mean, who was I in a past life? Anne Boleyn?

And of course, because James isn't a very nice boy, he laughed at me. He fucking laughed at me! Instead of feeling sorry for my chronic illness of _Word Vomitous_, he was doubled over laughing, practically rolling on the ground like a dog. Out of all the times I said something stupid in front of him and all of the times he had laughed, this was by far the worst.

I was so humiliated. My face was hot, my palms were sweaty, and I had this terrible sensation that I was going to throw up. Wouldn't that the icing to the fucking cake? Word vomit followed by actual vomit.

I leaned up against the brick wall of the restaurant, my hands covering my eyes just waiting for it all to stop. And by 'it,' I meant everything: the word vomit, the laughing, the desire to cry or to die or to do both. I had never hated being Spencer Lockwood more in my entire life.

In my mortification, I didn't notice that the laughter had subsided, and before I really knew what was happening, my hands were being pulled away from my face, and James's lips were crashing into mine.


	14. Embarrassment Times Infinity

I was taken completely by surprise. And I didn't know how to handle it. It seemed like James was everywhere: his right hand in my hair, his left resting on my waist, his hard, toned body pressed flush against me. The frantic pattering of my heart intensified as he pulled me closer, as his thumb rubbed circles into my skin, leaving patterns that burned under his very ouch. His lips – the very lips that I shamelessly stared at whenever he spoke, that I imagined kissing me time and time again – were soft, warm. My whole being had exploded by the close contact – the excitement that that this was finally happening, the anxiety over my lack of experience. I could hardly concentrate; I could hardly disentangle the mangled web of my thoughts into something that actually made sense. Everything felt amazing – _he_ felt amazing.

And I just stood there.

Despite everything being so _right_, everything was _wrong_ – it was all _wrong_. Sure, I was weak in the knees, and my heart was giving a hummingbird a run for its money, and James's lips felt fucking _unbelievable_ – and all of that should have been perfect, but it wasn't. And it was all my fault. I was no good at this; I had no idea what I should be doing. I mean, _fuck_, I was lucky that I had enough sense to close my eyes.

I knew that I didn't have much time. I needed to respond and it needed to be in like, I dunno, _four seconds_, because if I just stood there any longer, it could be wrongly translated into lack of interest. Which was the _last thing_ I wanted.

I tried to wrack my brain, searching through the useless piece of shit, for a random snogging scene from a movie. How did this thing work? How did the girl react to an unexpected snog attack? How did she move her lips with his, touch him –

Oh, shit. My hands. Where the fuck do I put them?

My mind was in overdrive. Hands, hands, _hands_, where do I put my _hands?_ My life would be so much easier if I didn't have to worry about my _hands_.

The offending appendages were heavy at my sides and I internally cursed them for being so damn _immobile_. I mean, anything – anything at all – instead of just hanging there like a limp noodle would be fine! It could be fucking jazz hands for all I care. Just _something_. Honestly, this whole thing would be _so_ much easier if my body actually responded to the commands that my brain feebly sent out.

But nope, my body it seems has decided to show its true colors: it's a harcord arsehole.

After a few more wasted seconds, James's hand traveled from my hair to the nape of my neck, causing me to involuntarily shiver in response. God, I never wanted him to stop. It just felt so good. But best of all, the action immediately triggered the memory of a snogging scene from some cheesy romance movie to invade my mind. My lifesaver. The bloke's hands were in similar positions are James's and the girl had her arms wrapped around the bloke's neck.

_Genius_.

With a newfound determination, I lifted my hands from my sides, the slight tremble from my nerves ignored, and reached up to put them on his shoulders.

…And landed on his chest.

God fucking damn it! _Why the bloody hell did he have to be so bloody tall?_

Okay, so this was a minor setback – not a bad one. So I didn't reach my initial destination, but this wasn't so bad. I mean, his chest felt warm and muscled underneath my fingertips, and I wasn't going to lie, I really liked touching him – even if it was just my hands on his chest. Just the feel of him – everywhere – was driving me mad. The butterflies in my stomach were having a fucking field day and it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything when James's thumb began to lightly trace my collarbone.

I was just hoping that the potentially embarrassing moans I heard weren't coming from me.

But maybe they were both of us – I had no idea.

I soon decided that I was going to slowly slide my hands up his chest and to his shoulders, to where I would hopefully – that is, if I could reach – wrap my arms around his neck. It was going to be slow and sensual if everything went alright. Because that was sexy, right? I honestly had no idea.

My hands had only just begun to inch their way north when it happened.

I should have seen it coming, I really should have, because it was only natural, right? But still, the panic sirens in my body began to go haywire when I felt James's tongue at my lips, begging for entrance into my mouth.

And I didn't know what to do with a _tongue!_ I mean, _honestly_. This was the first time that I had ever had lip-on-lip action; I wasn't prepared or ready for the _tonsil hockey_. That was madness!

If my mouth hadn't been attached to James's, I probably would have started hyperventilating.

It's a bit difficult to convey how much I had dreaded this very moment for the past several years of my life. I had always been prone to embarrassing myself, and, well, someone sticking their tongue into my mouth seemed like the opportune moment for things to get really messy and made me the perfect target for humiliation. And don't get me wrong, a bloke snogging the daylights out of me – well, there was nothing more that I could ever want. It was just that the older I got, the more experienced the boys got and here I was, stuck in my perpetual state of purity. As much as I'd like to think that instinct immediately takes over and that I'll know immediately what I'm supposed to do, there wasn't much reliability in that.

I was gonna suck. And James was gonna laugh at me.

And then I'd be deemed entirely unsnoggable, branded as a Spinster, and banished into a lifetime of virginal loneliness, left to rot alone in my old age with only the company of my many cats. The police would find me dead in my apartment, my decomposing flesh reduced to food for my hungry and uncared for pets.

It seemed that the success or (inevitable) failure of this moment held the fate of the rest of my life.

So yeah, it was kind of a big deal.

At first I thought, 'Fuck it, I'll just go for it.' I mean, what did I have to lose, except for my life happiness? It was just a tongue; I could handle a tongue. Shit, I _ate_ tongues for breakfast. Tongues were my _bitch_.

But then I remembered the Cherry Test.

And I lost every bit of confidence that I had briefly built up.

The Cherry Test; I remember that day well.

When Robyn and I were fourteen, we went to this little diner near her grandparent's house and got some milkshakes. Upon arrival at our table, we devoured our drinks in seconds flat and all that was left was the cherry.

_Robyn picked her cherry out of her glass, detached its stem from its plump, red body and smiled at me. "Look what I can do," she said, and popped the stem into her mouth. Moments later it emerged, daintily tied into a tight knot. "This means that I'm a good kisser," she told me._

Now, you can't blame me for wanting to try. I needed to prove that I could in fact pass the test that deemed the success rate of future romantic escapades. I was a Lockwood girl, and by God I was going to tie that mother fucker into a knot.

So I popped it into my mouth – all smug and Spencer-like – and I contorted my tongue this way, and I contorted it that way.

But it didn't tie. No matter how hard I concentrated, no matter how I contorted my tongue, no matter how much I willed it tie, it didn't. That cherry stem made _me_ its bitch.

_Utterly defeated, I unattractively spit it out onto my plate, glaring at the saliva-coated cherry steam. I looked up at Robyn who seemed to fighting the urge to laugh._

"_Does this make me a bad kisser?" I whined._

_Robyn arranged her face so that her expression was grave, but there was still a twinkle of mirth in her eyes as she rested her hand on my shoulder. "Yes," she said solemnly._

_We both burst into laughter._

I couldn't do this. It had been funny at the time, but I couldn't do this. Every happy feeling had left me and the warmth James had generated was sucked from me, leaving me in a cold sweat. In my utter panic, my hands stopped their quest to James's shoulders and instead pushed forward on his chest, shoving his body away from me.

James's mouth left mine with a little _pop!_ and we stood there, eyes wide, staring at each other.

Fuck.

I wanted to take it back immediately. It suddenly occurred to me what my actions would mean to him, how they would be interpreted.

And I didn't know how to fix it.

James hastily removed his hands from my neck, my hair, taking a large step away from me and allowing his gaze to fall on anything but my face. Even in the dim lighting I could see the shade of red his cheeks had turned. He raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair.

It was too quiet – a sure sign that I had fucked everything up. But I could save it, right? We had made it through the various fuck ups of the evening just fine, now hadn't we? The only thing that worried me that it had always been _James_ to salvage the moment when everything went wrong. He was better at this; he was good with words. I just panicked and threw them up. Because that was all that I was good at.

But I needed to try.

I went to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn't come; they were caught in my throat.

James ended up being the first to speak – the exact _opposite_ of what I had wanted. I didn't want to hear how much I had hurt him; I wanted to make it all better.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, looking at the bit of brick wall above my head instead of at me. "I-I thought that…that you wanted…that you liked…" He trailed off weakly, his hand fisted in his jet-black hair, but I knew exactly what he had intended to say.

_I thought that you wanted me to kiss you. I thought that you liked me…_

It was at that moment that I wanted to scream; I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him for being so damn thick. Of course I liked him! Of course I wanted him to kiss me!

But I didn't do that. Instead I was saved by my inability to keep the word vomit at bay.

"I'veneverbeenkissedbefore." The words came spewing out of my mouth so quickly that they fused together, forming one incoherent sentence.

The phrase that couldn't possibly have been English must have startled James quite a bit because he lowered his gaze to meet my eyes. "What?"

It was my turn to turn red. He wasn't really going to make me say it again, was he? I bit my bottom lip. It vaguely occurred to me that James had been kissing those very lips mere moments before.

If only I had some sort of device that could turn back time, you know? And I'd keep it on a necklace or something so that I could have easy access to it every time I fucked up. My life would be pretty ace if I could do that.

I took a deep yoga breath. Someone say a prayer to the dating gods for me. "I-I've never been kissed before."

There. The words were out there in the open. Do with them what you may, James Potter. Just be sure to remember all the good times we had before you go and step on my heart.

And for the last time, I'm sorry I threw up on your trainers. You're replacements are lovely.

As I stood there staring at said replacement trainers, I longed for the ability to melt into the floor. Fuck being invisible, fuck having super strength, if I had any super power, mine would be to melt into the floor. That sort of thing would be far more useful for people like me.

But that got me thinking, I was bitten by Chester the other night, and since he was so fan-fucking-tastic, I wouldn't he surprised if he were a vessel of superpowers, consequently passing on the ability to melt into floors to me!

Maybe if I moved my leg like _this_, positioned my other foot like _that_ and –

Nope, still here.

…Fuck.

I cannot tell you how much being a mortal sucks.

I was cursing my existence for being so ordinary when I was broken out of my thoughts by the sound of James's voice.

"Really?" His voice was light, playful – exactly what I had been afraid of.

Here it comes: the jokes, the laughter. I looked up with full intentions of merely taking a peak at his expression and then looking back down at his trainers, but what I saw held my attention. James was smiling, but it wasn't the holding-in-laughter or condescending type smile that I was sort of expecting. It didn't understand it; he looked a bit, I dunno, _smug_.

"What do you look so pleased about?" I asked, crossing my arms – both defensive and indignant because I had no idea what the hell was going on.

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but the self-satisfied expression remained in tact. "I dunno, it's just that I'm your first kiss."

I felt the temperature of my face skyrocket. "So?"

"So," he said pointedly as if it were completely obvious. "_I'm your first kiss_."

I gaped at him utterly bemused. "I don't think I'm following." I paused. "Are you making _fun_ of me?"

"No, I'm just reveling in my _awesome_."

It suddenly dawned on me what he was talking about. Was he for real? Feeling all high and mighty because he stole my lip virginity? One look at his face told me yes, yes he was. I whacked him on the arm. "What? Do you want a fucking _medal_ or something?"

James grinned at me, taking a step forward. "Yes. And I want my name engraved in it and everything."

"How quaint."

"Shut up."

Before I could get another word in, James's hands had snaked around my waist and his lips were on mine again.

I don't know what it is with James and me laying on the ground, but an hour later we were in the park, side-by-side in the grass. An empty plate of fish and chips was between us.

James had just finished pointing out some constellations to me – his favorite being Sirius because he told me that was his middle name.

"Your parents named you after a constellation?" I asked, turning my head to face him.

"Not directly," he said with a smile. "I was named after someone who was named after a constellation. And my late grandfather. We're all kind of named after dead people – Al, Lily, and me."

"That's creepy."

James snorted and grabbed my hand. "You know, I think that's why I like you."

I felt my face heat up, my pulse beat wildly. "And why is that?"

He turned his head to look at me. "You keep me on my toes. I was expecting you to say 'I'm sorry,' like everyone else does. It's refreshing."

"Or a sign that I'm socially inept. Your pick."

He laughed. And so did I. And then we turned our attention back to the stars. And then we were quiet.

"James?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to be?"

"You mean after I get out of school?"

"Yeah."

He took a moment to reply. Finally, he sighed and said, "Well, my parents are really important people in the Wi – _Non-Muggle_ World and everyone expects me to be like them. But I don't know if I want to, you know?"

I nodded. "Hmm."

"I mean, Al's lucky because he knows exactly what he wants to do and Lily's too young to be thinking about this kind of stuff. Me – I'm just a mess."

"Well, what are you good at?"

James bit his lip guiltily, giving me a small smile. "I can't tell you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Non-Muggle stuff."

I laughed. "Ah, I see. Always the Non-Muggle stuff."

"Oh, don't give me that. You know I'll tell you eventually. And remember what you said before? It's like sex on the first date _mmm_ –"

I didn't let him finish. With a face as red as a fire truck, I had thrown my hand over his mouth, the rest of his sentence muffled and indistinct.

"What's your favorite color?" I blurted out, hoping that the question would distract him.

He held my hand by the wrist and pried it from his mouth. "You asked that already, remember?"

I paused. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was laying half on top of him. I sat up on my heels, very red in the face and reminding myself to breathe. "Er, Gryffindor red, right?"

He smiled. "Yup."

"And what is that exactly?"

He bit his lip thoughtfully. "It's kind of a scarlet red."

I laughed. "Not _that_, I mean what's a 'Gryffindor'?"

James propped himself up in the grass with his elbows. "We're kind of treading dangerous waters there."

"Non-Muggle stuff?"

He nodded. "I could probably explain it without actually _telling_ you what I am, but I might slip by accident."

"Oh." I averted my gazed to the grass, fisting a dozen or so strands in my hand and uprooting them from the ground. It probably wasn't right of me to take my irritation out on the grass, but it was something to do.

"Spencer?"

I looked up. James's expression was soft; I think he understood how frustrated I was. "Yeah?"

"What do you want to be?"

It was a simple question, but one that I couldn't answer. Everyone was asking me, 'What are you going to be? What are you going to be?' and I just felt like screaming _'I have no fucking idea!'_ My head was ready to explode; I had so skills, no special talents to offer the world. And I was steadily approaching my final year of school before university…with no plan whatsoever.

But I didn't tell James that. I was going to, but the words just fell from my lips. But they felt right as soon as I said them:

"Happy. I wanna be happy."

James smiled. "Me too."

"Well this is creepy."

He stole the words right out of my mouth. I mean, the way he said it was more matter-of-fact rather than shit-scared as it would have been had I said it, but still, my thoughts exactly. James and I were standing at the bottom of the stairs at my front porch. All the lights in the house were off and the front door was wide open.

"Do you think someone broke in?" I whispered, my voice small and shaky.

"I dunno," he murmured, letting go of my hand and stepping forward.

"Where are you going?" It was more forceful than I had intended, but I was kind of scared. You see, the dark and I weren't exactly on good terms.

James turned to look at me, raising an eyebrow and the ghost of a smirk on his face. "To go check it out," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Shit, James, I can't go down the hallway at night to _pee_ without bringing a flashlight, you can't just go there when there might be some mass murderer in my house!"

"Well, don't you wanna make sure your mum's okay?"

"Oh, I'm sure she's fine," I snapped, rolling my eyes. "She's real ace at hide-and-seek and my uncle's an ex-cop, she knows how to make a weapon out of just about anything."

That got a laugh out of him. "Well my dad's sort of a cop for the Non-Muggle World so I'm sure I can handle myself," he said easily.

James started to continue his way up the steps and I found myself grabbing him by the shirt tail and following close behind, mumbling how bad of an idea this was.

"Shh, calm down, Spencer. Just think happy thoughts."

"We're gonna die."

"That's the spirit."

We finally reached the door, the seconds had seemed to drag on for some reason, and James stopped in front of it to inspect it. I, in the meantime, looked around the dark porch, on the verge of having a heart attack. I was breathing heavily and I couldn't swallow. I wasn't usually this much of a scaredy cat, but nighttime did strange things to me.

"James, maybe we should just –"

"Well it doesn't look like a break in."

"That's nice, how about we –"

James flicked on the light.

"_Freddy?"_

I stood up on my tip-toes and looked over James's shoulder to see that Freddy was in fact in the middle of the front foyer, sitting in an armchair that he had dragged in from the living room.

"You're a right tosser, you know that?" The words were sharp, angry.

The weird part was that they didn't come from James or me.

"_I'm_ the tosser?"

"Yeah, James, you are," Freddy said, throwing his hands up in the air and standing up from his chair to make his way over to us. "I've been sitting here in the dark for _Merlin knows how long_ and you just got to waltz in and be the hero. You ruined everything! You heard how scared she was!"

I squeezed between James and the doorframe to get inside. "You're such a dickhead," I spat, whacking and punching Freddy on the arm with all my might.

Clearly I hadn't gained any strength between now and the last time I physically assaulted Freddy because he sighed as if I were an annoying fly. "Please, James. Can you control your girlfriend?"

"Nope. You unleashed her wrath; now you must suffer the consequences," James said, laughing.

My heart skipped a beat when he didn't correct Freddy for calling me his girlfriend.

…Holy fucking shit.

Does this mean that I'm his girlfriend now? I swear, I almost stopped hitting Freddy and hugged him. And then started dancing. Was it possible for a day to be filled with so much suck and awesome at the same time? Because seriously, there were some pretty bad clunkers today, but right now that didn't matter. I was on the verge of combusting I was so happy.

I had to remind myself to breathe.

With one final and feeble punch, I took a step back and crossed my arms, glaring at Freddy intensely. But I couldn't hide the hint of a smile that was playing on my lips.

"Does my mum know you're here?" God, it was so hard to sound intimidating. They say that having children makes some people become softies, but, man, just becoming James's girlfriend did me in. Seriously, how was I ever supposed to be taken seriously again? I was practically _giggling_.

Who the fuck giggles when they're supposed to be scolding someone?

"Nope," Freddy replied, popping the 'p' and raising an eyebrow at me. He seemed to notice the shift in my behavior. I was praying that James didn't. "She's asleep upstairs. I let myself in with the spare key underneath the mat. You guys should seriously consider putting that thing somewhere else; it was a bit too easy breaking into your house."

"Oi! Putting the spare key under the mat is classic!"

"My point exactly."

"Freddy?"

The boy in question turned to James. "Yeah mate?"

"Could you get lost?"

Freddy's expression brightened immediately, his sour mood gone and replaced with the bloke I knew and hated. He began to wag his eyebrows at James and me suggestively which made me want to run over and straggle him. "Sorry, am I interrupting the conclusion to your evening rendezvous?"

"Yes," James said pointedly. "As a matter of fact, you are."

Freddy agreed to leave, promising to wait outside for James, but he certainly didn't go quietly. With a final thumbs up in James's direction and a quick swat on my arse which made James narrow his eyes, Freddy was out the door.

No one said anything at first. I finally broke the silence.

"So I'm your girlfriend, huh?" I failed; I couldn't say it with a straight face.

James met my gaze, a small blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Do you want to be?"

I swallowed. "Do you want me to be?"

After I said it, I wanted to take it back. I found that I didn't want to hear his answer; I mean, this was a defining moment in our relationship, and that was scary. What if he didn't want me?

A smirk donned James's features – something I didn't expect. "Would you like to be formally asked?"

I snorted unattractively. Why do I always seem to do that at the most inappropriate moments? "No, that's a bit silly. Do you want me to be your girlfriend or not?"

"Do you want to be or not?"

"I asked you first!"

"Which brings us back to _would you like to be formally asked?_"

"_No_. Because that's _silly_."

"Will _somebody_ make a bloody decision here?" Freddy asked, sticking his head through the now open door. "I wanna get a move on."

"Just go home, Freddy. No one asked you."

"Yeah, get the fuck outta here."

Flipping the both of us off and winking simultaneously, Freddy ducked out of the foyer and back outside.

"God, he's annoying."

"I can't believe that I'm related to that fucker."

"Me neither. You're perfectly lovely."

"_Thank_ you."

We just stared at each for a moment. "Did I tell you that you look really pretty tonight?" James murmured.

I paused, thinking about it. "You know, I don't think that you did."

"You look really pretty tonight."

I smiled and murmured a thanks – a bit red from embarrassment. But it was a different kind of embarrassment.

The good kind.


	15. Surprised

Saturday morning at roughly four am, I woke up in a cold sweat, having just jerked awake from probably the worst nightmare in the history of the universe. This certain night terror had the horrifying power to beat out any bad dream I had ever gotten as a child: me getting attacked by a family of enormous spiders, my mum and dad buying a baby at the grocery store. Pretty scary, I know. But believe me, this one was _way_ worse. The sun wasn't even up yet and I lay petrified in my bedroom at my dad's flat, my chest rising and falling with each labored breath, and vaguely wondering how my subconscious comes up with this kind of horse shit. And I was also having a hard time distinguishing whether the fact that my pajamas were soaked through were because I was sweating like a pig or because I had peed my pants. I was hoping it was the former.

But despite all this, my thoughts kept flickering to my nightmare, the memory of it causing me to shake.

I was laying in the grass at the park with James – eerily similar to the better half of our date on Thursday night – but instead it was the eve of our wedding day, which seemed pretty fast to me. I mean, I should know the bloke a bit better, don't you think? We've only known each other a few weeks and what if we don't want the same things in life? I mean, what if he wants our kitchen cabinets to be oak and I want mahogany? I can't have _oak_ cabinets in my kitchen, that's just mad. It wouldn't work – it just wouldn't _work_.

But I digress.

Our conversation was really random and disjointed, ranging from things like childhood imaginary friends to the low production value of porno videos. It was really bizarre – like _really_. I mean, there we were all fine and dandy acting like this was the most normal thing in the world, that it wasn't at all usual that we were discussing this sort of thing which, now that I was awake, was really bugging me out. Who talks about that kind of stuff anyway? I certainly can't _marry_ him if we're going to talk about that. But soon we moved on from that and onto a topic that apparently held a lot of weight for James: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"How do you eat your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" he asked me solemnly. This seemed like a make-it-or-break-it type of question, the way he said it so intensely. I swallowed hard and hoped that my subsequent response was sufficient.

"I don't like jelly," I said honestly, shrugging. "Just peanut butter."

I turned my head to face James and was shocked to see the disbelief in his brown eyes. _"What?"_ he spluttered, utterly appalled and enraged. "You don't like jelly? How can you not like jelly?"

"Well, I –" I wanted to explain how my tongue just didn't appreciate the jelly's slimy texture and I preferred to dine on the dry, sticky peanut butter on its own, but I didn't get another word in.

"Do you cut the crust off? _Tell me you cut the crust off, Spencer!_"

"I –" Lie. Everything in me told me to just lie, and then everything would be alright, but my mouth betrayed my brain and heart and before I knew it, the truth was tumbling from my lips. "Don't."

A cry of outrage, anguish. James immediately called off our engagement. I held onto his leg as he tried to hurry away in a huff and he dragged me along the grass for a good six or so meters before he finally shook me off, leaving me alone in the park.

Out of nowhere, rain starting falling out of the sky with surprising force, drenching me completely. I was not only an alone loser now, but an _extremely wet_ alone loser.

The next day I still needed to get married even though James had dumped my sorry arse because my dad had spent so much money on the wedding singer and cater.

Before I knew what was really happening, I was saying 'I do,' to Freddy Weasley and the priest, Tony Stark, was handing us our 'baby' – a plastic baby doll with the body of a teddy bear.

Freddy named it Carlos.

I woke up screaming.

Thirty minutes later and I still couldn't fall back to sleep. Before long, I was standing in the bathroom, my fingers poking and prodding at my lips, sticking out my tongue for further inspection in the mirror every ten seconds or so. I had been practicing this ritual every time I came in contact with a reflective object since Thursday night, since he kissed me. I mean, they didn't _feel_ any different, and they certainly didn't _look_ any different – but they were. They were all grown up now: no longer unsnoggable, no longer pesky virgins. I couldn't help but compare it in my head to a bar mitzvah; dare I say, my lips and tongue had crossed the threshold into manhood.

Huzzah! Snaps for my lips and tongue.

It amazed me how seventy-two hours ago I had never even been on a date before and now, I had not only done _that_ but also _snogged_ a bloke – as in, I had let him stick his _tongue_ into my _mouth_. I know, right? What is this sorcery? And, like, it was _crazy_ because earlier in the evening, I had been really worried about the whole ordeal but then when he was at my house, about to leave, and giving me a final kiss goodnight, we just kind of went for it. At least he did, I just tried to stifle an embarrassing squeak and keep up the best I could. And while I don't think I was miraculously brill at it, I wasn't _terrible_ either – which I think was a triumph within itself.

Once I had poked my lips to the point where they'd be swollen until the day I die, I decided to head back to my room and try to fall back asleep. I've always hated going back to bed after a nightmare; it's almost as if I'm stupidly charging into a room where all of my fears are waiting for me.

I walked down the hallway quickly, not even bothering to practice being a ninja by avoiding the floor panels that creaked and whined; my dad was practically the basis of the phrase 'sleeping like the dead.' The universe knows that no level of noise could ever steal that man from his dreams. But who was I to judge anyway? I'd slept through a handful of minor earthquakes over the years.

Back in my room everything was still – as it should be a four-thirty in the morning. Standing in the doorway, I couldn't help but be scared shitless. I mean, what if I Freddy were to pop out from underneath the bed in nothing but a bowtie, demanding that we consummate our dream-marriage? Or something equally as horrible as that?

I rolled my eyes at the very thought. Why could I easily imagine him pulling something like that? I mean, it's so…Freddy.

Scolding myself for being such a baby – just thinking the word made me picture the deformed teddy-baby and I shuddered at the image – I tiptoed across my room, hoping not to awake the beast that lay beneath my bed. Not that I actually believed he was going to be there or anything. You know…just in case.

Once I got a few meters away from my bed, I made a run for it, my heart beating frantically in my chest. With a jump, I landed on my mattress with a bit of a bounce and quickly ducked underneath my covers before any creature of the night (i.e. one Freddy Weasley) could attack.

I am seventeen years old, hear me roar.

I lay waiting in the stillness trying not to breathe so loudly and debating the pros and cons of an investment in a nightlight. _(Is seventeen too old for that sort of thing? People do that, right? It's not at all weird. How much would the cashier judge me?)_ When all seemed well, I decreased the buildup of tension in my limbs and closed my eyes in an attempt to fall back to sleep.

I've always been a violent falling-a-sleeper – ever since I was small. Whenever encountered with a fit of insomnia, blankets were thrown, kicked, and shoved about; pillows were bludgeoned to death; sheep were cursed into the depths of Hades. All of the works. And tonight was no different. If my beddings were alive and capable of speech, I'd be facing multiple charges on account of assault and battery.

But you couldn't really blame me; it was all that Weasley bloke's fault. I never liked him – and rightfully so.

And you know what? It wasn't just the wedding-nightmare. Sure I'd forever be scarred, traumatized, and in therapy for it, but that stupid berk was causing me a lot of not-needed stress and much more trouble than he was worth lately.

I mean, he just _had_ to fornicate with my mother on a regular basis, didn't he? He couldn't just find a pretty girl his own age. No, he just had to make my life a living hell. He's not a very smart bloke but he should have foreseen the problems this would cause me! I mean, how does one tell their male parental unit that their ex-wife is shacking it up with someone half their age? Huh? How would one go about that other than trying to avoid the conversation completely?Because Captain Kurk's tits,_ nothing seems to be working._

I mean, my dad being my dad, he's bound to get on my nerves at times but I always valued him to be a smart man. And I worried about him a lot because he was so fucking nice all the time and I was always afraid of someone taking advantage of that, you know? And this thing with Freddy would just crush him; I just wanted to protect him from all that.

But he was so goddamn persistent! How was I supposed to protect him if he was so hell-bent on finding out who my mum's boyfriend was? Or recruiting me as his Inside Man? I'm clearly not smart enough to keep my mouth shut – I proved that much the other day.

When he came to pick me up from my mum's on Friday, he completely caught me off guard. I had barely parked my arse in the seat of his car when he started yelling. It was like in Batman when he was all like, _"Where is he?!"_ but instead was all like, _"Who is he?!"_

And I was all like, _"Freddy Weasley!"_

And then I realized what I said so I quickly added _"I – I mean Queasley! Freddy Queasley!"_

If there's anyone in London that goes by the name Freddy Queasley, you're in trouble. Because if you're out there, he will find you.

I wish you good fortune in your upcoming duel.

If it helps at all, he's ticklish at the back of the knees.

So yeah, I royally screwed up.

Nothing new here.

"Dad, is it socially acceptable for the girl to ask the bloke out on a date?" I asked while slumped in a very unlady-like position on the couch. I had taken residence in said piece of furniture fifteen minutes ago with the intent of asking this very question, but I had to sit for ages in silence while I impatiently waited for a commercial break. You see, my dad didn't have many rules, but talking during one of his telly programs was practically punishable by death.

My dad turned to look at me, an eyebrow raised so high that it disappeared behind his fringe. "I think you're asking the wrong person that question, Spence."

I mirrored his raised eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Uh-huh. You know better than anyone that I'm no expert on what is so-called 'socially acceptable.'"

"Touché, Mr. Spock."

We turned simultaneously away from each other to look at the telly screen. It was playing some poorly made commercial for vacuums and we watched it in silence as if we were both interested in purchasing such an item. Which we weren't; I honestly couldn't tell you the last time our carpets were cleaned.

My dad startled me a bit by clearing his throat unexpectedly. "So…what? He didn't call you or anything?"

"No, he did," I assured him, keeping my eyes trained on the screen, certain that he was doing the same. It was a bit odd, I thought, how well my dad was taking the news of me finally having a boyfriend. I had actually fessed up to him about how 'Ned Knickerbocker' wasn't real a few years back so he knew this was my first relationship. I don't know, not that I was _disappointed_ or anything that he wasn't flipping out or overreacting in any way, I just kind of felt robbed of the 'protective father' experience. Watching numerous made-for-TV movies as a kid had prepped me for a period of perpetual tenseness until we finally had a father/daughter breakthrough that ended in tears and a stronger bond.

But whatever, he hasn't met James yet so perhaps the tides will change. "We just didn't talk about going out again."

"Oh." Silence. The commercial changed to a bunch of girls in bikinis that was somehow supposed to be related to cars. "Well…what did you two talk about?"

"How the names 'James and Spencer' don't generate a very good selection couple names."

"No?"

"Sames. Jencer. Spajames. They all suck."

"Spajames has a nice ring to it."

I shrugged. "I guess."

We were quiet again for three consecutive commercials. Most of them were alright but a fair few got a laugh out of my dad and me. After a while I knew that the commercials would be coming to a close and the show would soon pick up where it left off. Having no interest in watching the remainder of the program, I rose from my place on the end of the couch and made my way out of the living room.

"Spence?" my dad called. I back tracked and stood in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"I think it would be alright if you called him."

I smiled. "Thanks daddy."

I wasn't entirely sure why I was so nervous. I mean, he _was_ my boyfriend, wasn't he? Calling him was perfectly normal; people do that sort of thing all the time. And we were _Spajames_, damn it! If we could get through a series of events that included word vomit and actual vomit alike, we could handle a measly little phone call that was initiated on my behalf.

Right?

Okay, so it didn't exactly work out as I planned. I actually hung up four times. You know, before James even had the chance to pick up. I was about to increase my cowardice count to five – you know what they _don't_ say: the fifth time's the charm – when my phone started to ring.

The caller ID: James.

I picked up before I could chicken out. "Oh hey there, James! Salutations! What a pleasant surprise; I simply was not expecting to hear from you today – but I'm very glad that I did! What inspired you to contact me on this fine Saturday?"

"Well, you seemed to have had a bit of trouble staying on the line before," – someone kill me please – "so I figured I'd put you out of your misery and do the hard part for you," James replied, his voice dripping with amusement. I could only imagine the smirk on his face at that very moment.

"You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar," I said flatly.

"I do my best to serve."

"And serve, you do."

Then there was this weird, awkward silence where there was nothing else to be said so we didn't say anything until James finally took the bait and broke the silence. "So what's up?"

Sweaty palms and a shiver of nerves that slivered down the length of my person – I hate my body. I mean, this was my boyfriend for crying out loud; why the hell couldn't my body function properly? "Oh, well, you know."

…

And I left it at that.

I'm not entirely sure why.

"No, I don't know," he said, clearly amused.

I took a deep breath – I could do this. Yeah. "Well…I – I thought you might, perhaps, like to accompany me to the city in which has been graced with the given name of London. Ever heard of such a place?"

James let out a hearty laugh. "Why, Spencer Lockwood, are you asking me out on a date?"

"No…Maybe…Yes…Shut up."

He laughed again. "So tell me more of this 'London' in which you speak of," he said mirthfully.

I smiled and settled down in my computer chair. Putting on my best storytelling voice, I said, "Well it's this magical place…"

And thus began our nonsense conversation about the fictitious origins of England's capital.

"Hey, I'm eating ice cream all by myself in a shop window and I feel like a loser. Wanna meet up with me?"

In all of my years of knowing her, I could never understand why Robyn always felt the need to shout when she was talking to me on the phone. Only old people are supposed to pull that kind of shit (I had this theory that they were so miserable in their elderly deafness that they felt the need to impair the hearing of their surrounding youngins…you know, cuz nobody would suspect old people to do that sort of thing). But, regardless, this situation actually called for the absurd volume; I could barely hear her.

"Hey, Herp-Derp. What's all that noise in the background?" I shouted as I skipped down the steps to the first floor, on my way out to meet James. Another thing I could never understand was why I always felt the need to match Robyn's volume while on the phone with her. I mean, it wasn't like it was a contest or anything – but if it were, for the record, I'd totally win. My vocal chords are, like, made of steel; Robyn would lose her voice before she could ever beat me.

Mrs. Herman, who lived down the hall, was on her way up the stairs and she glared at me as we passed one another but I ignored her; I mean it's not like the old hag _owned_ the bloody staircase. I could be as loud as I wanted, thank you very much. I threw her a made up gang sign and internally cheered when her eyes widened in fear, and scampered up the stairs like a spider as a result.

Spencer Lockwood: Scaring the shit out of old people since '05.

I turned my attention back to Robyn on the phone. "Did a bunch of homeless people drag you into a bar so that you could pay for their drinks again?"

"Oh no, not this time. It's just a bunch of thirteen year olds sitting behind me who think they're cool. I was thinking that you could throw M&Ms at them while I sit on the sidelines and pretend that I disapprove. You know, the works."

I'll admit, this was really bizarre for me. Never had I ever been too busy to hang out with Robyn; I mean, it was always a given that I was free, seeing as she was my primary connection to the real world. I never had anything going on and I always needed her to get me out of the house. Or I was just in desperate need of saving from either Danny or from some science fiction film I was being force to watch with my dad. If it was anything, _she_ was the one who usually had other plans.

And not gonna lie; I felt this odd mixture of triumph and guilt.

"Oh. Erm. You know I'd really love to – cuz that sounds pretty rad, actually – but I've already, um, I've already made plans with James."

Once the words left my lips, all traces of the minimal triumph I had been feeling previously had subsided, and guilt immediately took its place. I knew that I didn't have anything to feel guilty about; I mean, I shouldn't have to apologize for having a date but I couldn't help the uncomfortable twist that had taken residence in my stomach. And the twist – it was twisting and curling and participating in other malicious acts that involved a hell of a lot of twisting. And mixed in with all that, something must have been pressing on my bladder because I suddenly needed to pee.

The only word that could possibly describe it – the moment, the feeling – would be, well, _awkward_. As in 'I think the Awkward Gods may have just taken an awkward shit on our friendship' kind of awkward.

"Oh," Robyn said softly.

And then I just died.

I mean, could my organs twist any _more_ or were they going to twist until inevitable _popage_ and thus lead to my untimely demise? I mean, within that one little word, Robyn sounded so…sad, so hurt. It wasn't my fault, it _wasn't my fault_, but I couldn't help but feel like it was, like I had abandoned her. You know? Was I really the type of person that would leave her best mate hanging for a bloke? I mean, I never _thought_ I was.

"No, no, no, no, _no_," Robyn burst out suddenly, the sudden strength in volume of her voice nearly enough to rupture my fucking eardrum. I stopped outside the front door of the flat building and held the phone slightly away from my ear so that her shrill wouldn't cause any further damage. "I mean, erase what I just said; I'm being an awful mate. That's _really_ brill, Spencer, real brill."

I appreciated her backtracking like that – I really did – but I couldn't help but feel like an arsehole. I mean, how many times had I crashed dates of hers in the past (with blokes, I might add that were either _really_ smart or _really_ bizarre because half the time I had no idea what they were even going on about) – many times without even a lick of warning? Surely I could let her do the same.

I didn't want to do it – because I rather liked being alone with James, but I had to take one for the team.

"Well, um, you wanna come with?" I asked, trying to keep the reluctance out of my voice.

"Er, Spencer, you know that third-wheeling isn't exactly my style…"

"Yeah, I know, but I've never really given you the opportunity to do that before considering my – er, lack of – dating history. Er, besides this would be really…_great_ because you'd get to meet him." I crossed my fingers, hoping that my false enthusiasm sounded genuine.

"Ah yes, finally a face to put to the infallible James. My day has officially gone from a negative twelve to a ten," she drawled sarcastically.

"Whoa, okay, _hey_. He is not _infallible_."

"Really? Cuz he sounds like it from the way you talk about him."

"Yeah, well, he's not. The bloke has his flaws," I insisted.

"Such as?"

"Well, um, er, when…when I do stupid things he doesn't laugh _with_ me, he laughs _at_ me. Like really hard. Like, _I-can't-control-it-I'm-laughing-so-hard _type laughing."

"Sweetie, _everyone_ laughs at you like that when you do stupid things," Robyn reminded me lightly.

"Danny doesn't," I said indignantly.

"He did that time you got hit in the face with a volleyball at the beach."

"_Don't remind me of that_; there were far too many attractive witnesses. But whatever, he's in no way perfect. I mean, there's a chance that he doesn't want mahogany kitchen cabinets and we all know how flawed non-mahogany enthusiasts are."

"What _is_ it with you and _mahogany cabinets_?"

"Hey! They're a _good_ investment!"

"Whatever. I'm not coming on your date with you."

"I can't believe I'm coming on your date with you."

"Yeah, well, shit happens," I said, shrugging as we walked down the street together. After about ten minutes I had been able to convince her to join us. And after hearing her bitch and moan about it for a billion hours, I was kind of regretting it.

"And are you _sure_ that he's okay with this?" Robyn asked for about the _hundredth_ time.

"_Yes,"_ I said, for about the _hundredth_ time. Bloody hell, this was getting annoying. "I called him and said that if I can deal with his pain in the arse cousin, he can deal with my pain in the arse best mate. I told you, he's cool with it."

"You know," Robyn said in that voice of hers that she usually uses when she's about to inform me of something that she probably thought was _interesting_ and would no doubt be _not_ interesting. "I think between the two of us, you're probably the pain in the arse."

"Not right now, I'm not," I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," I sing-songed.

"Really? Cuz it kind of sounded like you were implying that _I_ was the pain in the arse," Robyn said, trying (and failing) to sound angry. I had to fight a laugh so she wouldn't feel bad. She doesn't like it when I make fun of her (lack of) acting abilities.

"Oh look! There's James!" I squealed with a bit too much enthusiasm. I mean, _fuck_, I practically wet myself with glee.

Pa. Thetic.

Apparently not looking where I was looking, Robyn didn't seem to spot him at the table in the back so I grabbed her by the hand and practically _raced_ toward him.

Really, my level of pathetic knows no bounds.

But you couldn't blame me; I mean, he looked _so_ good. His hair was as wild as ever, and he was wearing a blue t-shirt – I decided that I really liked that color on him – that hugged his muscled chest nicely. In my mad dash to get closer to him, the memory of my hands on that wonderful chest of his – his hands on my waist and in my hair – invading my mind. I may have quickened my pace as a result.

If I thought that James was going to greet me with a hug and a kiss, I was immediately proved wrong when he stood up from his seat and knit his eyebrows together, his gaze not on _me_ but _Robyn_. Utterly baffled, I looked over to see that Robyn was as appalled as James appeared to be. She had stopped dead in her tracks and was eyeing James as if he was a ghost.

"_Potter?"_

"_Neumann?"_

My eyes darted back and forth between my stunned boyfriend and best friend, bewildered. "You two know…each other?" I asked slowly, my head spinning.

"Yeah," Robyn said softly, still keeping her gaze on James. "From school."


	16. In the Dark

I was a puddle of splat on the concrete.

Okay, so maybe not _literally_, but I totally was in the most metaphorically sense of the word and that was enough for me. No one likes being a puddle of splat.

No one.

Now you're probably wondering what the hell I'm going on about but I swear there's a point to all this. I mean, there I was in the middle of Starbucks with my boyfriend and best mate and yet I was a puddle of splat – I swear I was. It was like in those old school cartoons where the piano free falls from the top of a multistory building onto someone, thus turning them into a puddle of splat on the concrete.

And, well, to put it plainly, I _was_ that puddle of splat on the concrete.

And I had blasted dazed birds flying over my head and the puddle of my general splatness and everything. Because I was a puddle of splat.

_A bleeding puddle of splat!_

I would like you to think about the scene in question, and I mean _really_ think about it: I was a puddle of _splat_ on the concrete (I believe I've made myself quite clear on _that_ front), _massive_ ebony piano resting upon my _broken_ and _confused_ person, and birds floating above my head singing the words _"From school, from school,"_ over and over and _over_ again in my head in the most mocking way possible. Wouldn't you _think_, with all of this occurring, that your _supposed_ boyfriend and best mate would _free_ you from this situation? That they would have the _decency_ to _lift_ the fucking piano from your _broken_ and _confused_ torso and thus proceed to _re-inflate_ your _said crushed person?_

The answer to that question would be _yes_, yes you would think that. It would be only natural for you to think that.

But _no_. Apparently my boyfriend and best mate abide by different rules of the universe and are, frankly, just a bunch of self-absorbed _arseholes_.

I mean, come _on_, twelve seconds ago I had just been informed that Robyn – my best mate of nine freaking years – went to school with James. _James_. A Non-Muggle. A Non-Muggle that goes to a boarding school with other Non-Muggles, making Robyn, by default, a _Non-Muggle as well_.

Now after stating all of the facts, is there any other way for me to possibly stress, to _emphasize_ exactly how seething I was over the fact that in our nine years of best mateship, this not so small or miniscule detail went _unmentioned? _Someone explain to me how that even happens! I mean, what kind of friends did that make us seeing that she'd been one all this time apparently and didn't even bother to share this bit of information.

And even worse, I still didn't even know what a Non-Muggle was! I mean, throw me a fucking bone here; it wasn't fair of them to allow me to ride the waves of ignorance, waiting for a goddamn fucking lifeline as an invitation into their world.

I think it goes without saying that I felt very wronged in this mess, like a bloody puddle of _splat_. And I deserved an explanation, damn it. A bloody good one, at that. Or even like a _"Oh hey, Spencer, James and I are both Non-Muggles which is a – _insert what a Non-Muggle is here_ – and we go to the same school and all but it's totally not a big deal because we've never dated so this tension between us is not at all weird or sexual and this whole being a – _insert what a Non-Muggle is here_ – is totally stupid and not at all a big deal so you have nothing to be jealous of or feel left out for."_ I'd be way cool with that! That there, is a quality, best mate worthy explanation. And did I get that? No!

But you know what I did get? I was bloody ignored! It was like I wasn't even _there!_

My Muggle, unimportant – yet perky – tush was left out of the following chat because evidently this was matters for only the Non-Muggles of the group.

Which was everyone but me.

And thus, I was completely ignored.

…

Have I mention that?

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, _Potter?_" Robyn spat, hands flinging into the air in a graceful manner that I could never achieve. While her execution was pretty impressive, the fluidity of her movements weren't enough to distract me from the fact that I kind of didn't like the way she said my boyfriend's name like it was a dirty word.

"Er, Robyn –" I began, hoping to not only emphasize how _not cool_ what she did was but to remind her that I was still there and curing my confusion was the priority here.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" James snapped back at her, effectively cutting me off and looking rather affronted instead of, you know, _paying attention to me_.

Seriously, did no one want to explain what was going on?

"This is _my_ Muggle, Potter, get your own Muggle," Robyn cried out, attracting the attention of several people sitting at the surrounding tables. Neither Robyn nor James seemed to notice this as they were rather invested in their own little row. Since I apparently wasn't permitted to be a part of said row, the most I could really do was look back and forth between them, bewildered.

James rolled his eyes. "You can't take ownership of a Muggle, Neumann. It's very well within my rights to date her if I want to."

Seeing that this discussion was so clearly about me, I thought I should take this as my cue to interject. I cleared my throat again. "Erm, guys," I piped up, hoping to cut in.

I was ignored.

Surprise, surprise.

Robyn's hands were resting firmly on her hips, one leg popped out, positioned in what I liked to call her _Bitch Stance_. James made the mistake of effectively _not_ being afraid. "Yeah, well, how'd you even meet her anyway? She told me she met you on the train which is obviously a lie!"

I sighed. "You know, I'm kind of standing right here –"

James scoffed, his eyes and attention still on Robyn. I was, it seemed, the last thing on either of their minds. Which was pretty unbelievable, considering that they were talking about me. "Not that it really concerns you, but I met her on the platform. Have a problem with that?"

The way he said that last bit made it like a challenge, like he was actually _daring_ her to have an issue with it.

This was escalating kind of quickly.

I tried once again to cut in and act as a buffer of sorts.

"Hey guys –"

"_Which_ platform?" Robyn bit back, her face hard and fairly composed. However, her eyes told a different story. One look into the pale green and all I could see was fury and sheer panic. "And it _better_ not be the one I'm thinking of."

I swallowed nervously, having a bad feeling that it was in fact the platform she was thinking of. My distant memory of the place, of Wonderland, was fresh enough to recall the abnormality of it all. I still hadn't put all the pieces together, but this was clearly no ordinary platform and the people who used it were no different. And judging by the look on her face, this was her worst nightmare. This was the sort of thing that kept the ever unsinkable Robyn Neumann up at night: Wonderland – and keeping me from it.

I had to stop this, to do something before a physical altercation ensued and we were eternally banned from Starbucks. "Guys –"

James's returning smile was deliciously evil as it began to spread over his features slowly like molten lava – he was going in for the kill. "Why it was Platform Nine and Three Quarters, of course. You know, the one that gets us to _Hogwarts_."

Everything was suddenly dead silent between the three of us; if it weren't for the other customers around us, you'd probably be able to hear a pin drop. I didn't really know much about James's Non-Muggleness but I did know that 'Hogwarts' was the name of his school – and I was certain Robyn didn't really appreciate his bringing it up.

I held my breath and my gaze traveled to Robyn to gage her reaction. Her eye was giving a not-so-subtle twitch as her jaw completely locked, her left hand balling up into a fist while the other inched toward her pocket before retreating when seeming to think the better of it.

James just looked smug as hell.

This was where I had had enough. Endlessly frustrated, I stomped my foot, hoping to finally gain their attention. _"Guys –"_

Disregarding me as per usual, Robyn glared at James, slightly more collected than a moment before but still looking as if she could spit fire. "How the _hell_ did she get through there?"

That was it; I snapped, I went completely and utterly ballistic. Hands grabbing at my scalp and tugging on the brown roots of my hair, I screamed, "WOULD SOMEONE LIKE TO PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" And when all was quiet, I kicked the leg of one of the chairs at our table for extra effect.

All eyes were on me, and when I say that, I really mean that _all eyes were on me_. My audience included, but was not limited to Mr. and Mrs. Major Prat McGee in front of me, the people at the surrounding tables, everyone standing on line, and the workers behind the counter. It seemed that everyone had halted what they were doing to openly gape at the extremity of my actions. Like literally, everyone. I mean, I wouldn't actually be surprised if the person in the loo had heard me and stopped what they were doing as well.

"Er," I began to announce tentatively, unnerved by all of the eyes boring into every angle of my person. "We're gonna take this outside…Yeah."

And at that, I pivoted on my heel and stomped toward the exit, steam coming out of my ears, thinking that heaven forbid, if _they didn't follow_ _me_…

But they did. Through all of the obscenities and threats that were going through my mind, I could hear two pairs of reluctant footsteps trotting behind me.

The moment the three of us were out of the door and away from the prying eyes of each and every Starbucksian, I rounded on James and Robyn, eyes aflame and intent on making my displeasure clear.

"Well?" I asked expectantly, eyebrows raised and hands on my hips. "Care to explain?"

Robyn had the decency to look abashed; James was running his fingers through his hair but it wasn't the nervous gesture he usually used. He seemed to do it more out of annoyance than anything and I had a feeling it was directed more towards Robyn than me.

"How much do you know?" she asked carefully, her eyes intensely studying my face so as to measure my reaction.

"Nothing, she knows _nothing_," James sighed in exasperation. "I wouldn't just tell her; I'm not an idiot, you know."

"But I know I'm a Muggle," I added forcefully, my response quick before Robyn could get a word in and thus ensue yet another conversation that didn't include me. My eyes landed on her and she appeared to be extremely tense as I stared at her critically. "And I know that you're not."

This bit of information seemed to alarm Robyn and she immediately went to berate James, but he beat her to it, rolling his eyes as he spoke. "She doesn't know what a Muggle is, alright? She just knows that she is one. Now will you calm the fuck down already?"

"No!" I barked, stomping my foot onto the sidewalk's concrete. "You're going to tell me what it is right now; I'm sick of being in the dark. And _you_," – I turned from James to glare at Robyn – "You have no excuse. I've known you for how long and you didn't even plan on telling me, did you?"

I saw a flash of guilt on her face but as soon as I had seen it, it was gone, a hard look replacing it. "Oh as if you ever showed any interest in _my_ life," she said, rolling her eyes.

I gaped at her, feeling like I was just slapped across the face. In a way I kind of had been. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Don't act like you don't know," she snapped, her glare fierce and unforgiving. "Every time you come home for the hols, without fail I find you knocking on my door to tell me about yet another mess you've landed yourself in. And you just expect me to pick up the pieces! What about me, Spencer? You think I don't have problems?"

"Of – of course I know you do," I spluttered, jaw dropped and utterly aghast at how this whole thing had turned on me. I mean, I wasn't in the wrong here, I didn't do anything; I had nothing to feel guilty for.

Did I?

"Well, have you ever asked me about them?"

I was about to protest, to insist that yes, yes I had in fact taken the time to deviate from my own problems and ask her about hers but I hesitated. And I thought about it – and I mean, _really_ thought about it. In a matter of seconds I went back to all the conversations we had ever had, especially the more recent ones. And then I froze. Because was I really that self-centered?

No. I pushed it all to the back of my mind. I didn't want to think about it, to even consider it. Because she was wrong. I wasn't self-centered. I just wasn't.

And how dare she accuse me of it.

"I'm sorry that you feel that way," I shot back, hands balled into fists, anger making its way through my system. "But I've taken an interest in your life in the past and I still _do_."

Robyn rolled her eyes yet again. It made me want to rip them from her eye sockets. "That's bollucks, and you know it."

My expression hardened. "Fine. Don't believe me. But what did you expect me to have said? '_Sorry this may be random and completely without reason, but do you by any chance happen to be a Non-Muggle?'_ I mean, it wasn't until a week ago that I knew such a thing existed, but that was no thanks to you."

"Oh don't play the stupid card, Spencer, I know you're good at it," – that stung more than I thought it would – "Of course I couldn't have expected you to ask such a thing, but you don't think that it's even _slightly_ connected?"

"I know plenty about your life," I insisted. "And I know about your school."

"Alright then, tell me. Go on. Tell me all the things I told you when you _didn't_ ask." Her tone was really mocking which I didn't like at all. I could very well just walk away if I wanted to, but I couldn't give her the satisfaction of not knowing anything. So I indulged her. But I didn't do it with a smile on my face.

"Yeah, well, I know it's in Scotland and really expensive which is why I couldn't go but you're there on an academic scholarship," – It suddenly occurred to me as I said it that this bit of information was probably not true if she went to a school for Non-Muggles, that the real reason I couldn't go was because of my being a Muggle. But I kept going. – "Everyone there is a huge fan of the Norwegian Lacrosse Team, the Ravenclaws; you have a poster on your wall with their team colors, bronze and blue – which I happened to _ask_ you about when you got it. Oh! And it's called Strawgoh Academy of Higher Education."

"Strawgoh?" James cut in, thoroughly startling both Robyn and me. I hate to say it, but I had forgotten he was even there. "Isn't that 'Hogwarts' spelled backwards?"

His question was met with silence. And my whole world crumbled down.

I stared at Robyn, feeling utterly betrayed with this new piece of information. She could argue all she wanted about how I never took an interest in her life, that I didn't care, that I was self-centered. But there was no justification for this. Because of course I had asked her the name of the school when she told me she was going. So this? This was deliberate. She had never wanted me to know. She probably had a line-up of excuses stored away in case I had asked the right questions. And she never thought twice about it.

So I didn't think twice about what I did next.

Feeling an odd mixture of humiliation, guilt, and grief, I turned on my heel and headed down the street, hands balled into fists and tears steaming down my face.

After about two minutes of stalking down the streets of London, I felt a hand grab onto my shoulder and give it a light squeeze. Already knowing who it was, I turned to see James, hair sticking up in about a million more directions than it had been when I left him with Robyn and a sad smile playing on his lips. This for some reason triggered even more tears, and before I knew it, I was pulled into his arms, sobbing into his blue t-shirt while standing in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

I hadn't had any contact with Robyn in over three days. This probably wouldn't have been unusual for most people, but unless it was during the school year, we at least texted one another once a day even if it was just to say 'hi' (her school didn't have much in the way of service so communication took a bit longer as we waited for each other's responses to come by mail). But yeah, three days and absolutely nothing – from either of us. No one wanted to make an effort or the first move to patch things up.

It had bothered me, the things she'd said, and while James did the good boyfriend thing and assured me that I wasn't self-centered, I couldn't help but wonder if I was. I mean, I didn't think he was lying or anything, but maybe I just wasn't that way with _him_. Maybe it was something that I reserved for Robyn because I viewed her as my personal shrink.

So I tried to make an effort to ask more questions instead of just answering them. One day while my dad was parked in front of the telly, during a commercial break I asked him how work was. He said it was fine. And then it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn't entirely sure what he even did for a living. And I wasn't sure how to go about asking such a thing.

I tried to not let it bother me when I went out with James that night. It was three days post the Robyn break up but I still hadn't really bounced back from it quite yet. I wasn't my normal self and not very good at putting up a happy front – which I knew wasn't fair to James seeing that we were on a date and all. I just couldn't help it; I was kind of miserable about the whole thing.

"Alright, say it. I know you're thinking it," James said with a sigh, breaking me out of my Robyn filled thoughts. We were sitting in some sketchy coffee shop with dim lights and indie music. The people in it were a little weird but Starbucks had of course been off limits given the recent events that had occurred there and we had happened upon this place earlier by accident.

I don't know what it is with us and coffee shops; I don't even _drink_ coffee.

I took a sip from my hot chocolate, giving him a ghost of a smile. I took the bait. "Is there any chance now you'll be telling me what you are?"

This must have been the question he had expected because he didn't seem at all surprised by it. But this may have also come with the territory of being asked it about a million times over the course of over a week and a half. Regardless, he leaned back in his chair, the front legs lifting off the ground so that he was balancing on the hind two as he raised a hand to ruffle the back of his hair. "I don't know if it's my place anymore, you know?"

I nodded, reluctantly understanding what he meant. Despite the fact that Robyn had purposefully kept all of this from me, she probably wanted to tell me herself – that is, if we ever spoke again.

That just sounded so goddamn depressing.

James leaned forward so that the front legs of his chair handed on the floor with a hard thud. His brown eyes were wide, gazing at me with an utterly bewildered expression. "That's it? You're not gonna fight me on this?"

I shook my head. The movement was dejected, pathetic.

Christ, I was like a kicked puppy.

He raised an eyebrow. "Not even a little bit?"

I shook my head again.

He stared at me for a moment. And then, "You sure?"

I nodded.

He surprised me then by letting out a groan and then proceeding to violently tug at his hair. "Will you at least say something? _Anything?_ You being quiet is kind of bugging me out."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "So sorry to inconvenience you."

James smiled at me cheekily and reached across the table to give my hand a pat. He'd lost the tense posture that he usually takes on when we're discussing his Non-Muggleness. Now that he was presently distracted and the topic had been dropped, he seemed much more relaxed, less guarded. "There's Spencer. How nice of you to finally join us."

"Did you guys date or something?" I asked suddenly, taking a hold of his hand and blurting out one of the many things picking at my brain lately.

James appeared to be taken aback by the randomness of my question. He shook his head, looking at me as if I were crazy. _"No."_ The way he said it, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had tagged an 'Ew' onto the end of his statement.

"The two of you seemed tense though," I protested, choosing my words carefully and thinking back to the first part of the argument that hadn't included me. "As if there were _history_ there," I then whispered dramatically. This must have been really funny or something because James nearly choked on his coffee. And when he had finally swallowed properly and let out a hearty laugh, I added, "I'm not making this up, I swear!"

"I don't think you're making it up – more like…_misinterpreting_," he said with a smile, giving my hand a squeeze.

And then he just left it at that.

_Why_ would he just leave it at that?

I raised an eyebrow when he didn't go on. "And?" I prompted.

"It's nothing," he said, brushing it off with a wave of his hand.

"But I wanna know," I whined, my bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

He laughed at my expression. "Why? It's not like a good story or anything."

"Well I wanna know why you hate my best mate."

"I don't _hate_ her," he mumbled, taking another sip of his coffee. "She hates me."

"Why?"

He looked like he'd been about to finish off his drink but instead he sighed, resigning to my stubbornness and placing his cup back onto the table. "We were partners in potions last year. She's still mad at me because we got low marks when I blew up a cauldron at the end of term." I stared at him, completely lost as to what he meant by all this, part of me wondering if this were for real or if he was just taking the mickey out of me. I mean, making _potions_ in a _cauldron?_ That sounded a bit to me like, like…_witchcraft_ or something. But he rambled on without notice of the crease in between my eyebrows or the slackness of my jaw, almost as if he were in his own little world. He was barely even looking at me when he spoke; the only indication that he even remembered my presence was the lazy circles he was rubbing into my skin. "She insists that I did it on purpose but she knows that I'm bloody well rubbish at the subject. The only reason I even _made_ it into N.E.W.T. level potions is because of my dad, him being the Wizarding World's _savior_ and all that crap." He said this all with a shrug, taking another sip of his coffee.

But then James noticed the frozen, stunned look on my face. I couldn't believe it. _Wizarding World's savior, _he'd said. Wizarding. World.

Suddenly I knew _exactly_ what he was.

And I knew in that next moment he'd also realized what he had just revealed because then he froze as well, only getting out one more word:

"Fuck."

**A/N: So these are all of the chapters that I have pre-written. The next chapter is in the works but may take a few weeks. I'm going to upload two oneshots that I've written as some point while you're waiting so if you'd like to preoccupy yourselves with that in the meantime, it would mean a lot to me! Also, thank you for the lovely response that I've gotten from this story; it makes me so happy that you all enjoy it! And lastly, if you look on my profile, I have the links to my personal tumblr and the Wonderland tumblr that I have up; feel free to stop by and leave me questions and such :D**

**Until next time**

**~Jess :D**


	17. Wizard

My mother told me many things as a child: _"Don't touch this Spencer," "Don't do that Spencer," "Don't put that in your mouth, Spencer,"_ – the list went on and on. And it worked. I didn't touch anything without being previously permitted to do so; I didn't do anything without looking to her for permission; and I didn't eat anything that wasn't served to me for a meal. Because believe it or not, I wasn't always like this. I was actually an extremely well behaved, quiet kid, conditioned into tranquility and obedience until the age of seven when I finally mustered the nerve to defy my mother and taste Play-Doh for the first time. And that was it for me; I was a goner – a very wild, spastic goner. I mean, if you really think about it, Play-Doh _ruined_ my life. I could have been normal. I could have been a Non Word Vomit Extraordinaire.

I call it bad genetics but my Grandmum likes to claim this major turning point in my life to be a result of my parents' divorce, and thus being completely my mother's fault. Since, you know, she was the one that filed the divorce in the first place. But then again, it's not like my mania wasn't entirely inevitable. I mean, have you _met_ my parents?

But anywho, law, basic etiquette, rules, social conduct – I was taught all of those things. And then that year, when I was seven, I swiftly forgot it all in an average of 11.94 seconds with one taste of a non-toxic modeling compound. But sometimes, _sometimes_, these rules will randomly come back to me – usually, that is, when I'm breaking one of them. Which is most of the time – so not that randomly at all, actually.

For example, I was doing it right now, right in the middle of this dingy, no-name coffee shop. And I was in too much awe to even care.

You see, my mum always told me that it was rude to point.

And I suppose then that in that very moment I was, like, rude to the _max_ because that was literally _all_ that I could do.

With a wild look in my eye, I pointed my index finger accusingly at James, my mouth opening and closing as I spluttered complete and utter nonsense. I just couldn't believe it.

Wizard, he'd said. My boyfriend was a wizard. Wizard wizard wizard wizard wizard wizard _wizard_. I couldn't get it out of my head. And it was driving me positively _mad_.

And James. He was staring at me, eyes just as wide as my own and his lips slightly parted. Then he swallowed hard, as if there was something in his throat, but remained otherwise silent, his breathing a bit on the heavy side.

I wanted him to say something; _I_ wanted to say something. But nothing seemed to come out – I knew I had to though. His eyes…they were practically _pleading_ me to speak.

"James," I finally gasped out, half out of my seat and still pointing. "James, I – " I cut myself off, unsure of where I was even going with that statement. I tried again, "You," – My eyes widened further if that was even possible – "You – you…_you_."

I shut my mouth. For the first time in my entire career as a Word Vomit Extraordinaire, I, Spencer Olive Lockwood, could not speak. I just couldn't. Plain and simple. It was almost as if I was in shock – _catatonic_ or something. So I continued doing the only thing that I seemed remotely capable of at the moment: pointing. Rudely and unabashedly, I might add.

If only my mum could see me now.

The following moment was unbearably quiet despite the low murmurings of chitchat from the other occupants of the shop and the hum of music from the speakerphones on the ceiling. I was debating whether or not I should take another stab at, you know, actually _speaking_. Cuz, you know, normally I'm so good at that and all. Except, I didn't really get that far because before I could open my mouth, James was grabbing me by the hand and pulling me to my feet.

I was still too dazed to even ask where we were going as he pulled me along, but it didn't seem like he really knew either; we initially started towards the door but then he stopped and changed course when he saw that a bunch of baked hipsters were blocking the exit.

Before I knew it, he was dragging me into the loo.

Yes. I know. The _loo_.

It was then as James was hastily locking the door that my vocal chords decided to finally work. "James!" I objected, utterly scandalized as my cheeks bloomed a rather embarrassing shade of red. He stooped down to my eye level, running a hand through his hair, but I avoided his gaze, my face getting redder and redder by the second. "W-we can't be in the _loo_ together!"

"Look at me, Spencer, just look at me, will you? Listen, I –"

But once I had opened my mouth, I couldn't seem to close it.

"Are you bleeding mad, dragging me in here?" My eyes were wide, scanning the chipped and grimed tiles of the restroom that seemed to shrink as the seconds passed, my breathing borderline hysterical as the fear of small spaces that I didn't have washed over me.

I mean, James and I were in there. Together. And otherwise alone. In the loo. Together. Very, very alone and very, very together. Like, just think of the _implications_.

James rolled his eyes. "It's just the loo. Now c'mon, would you calm down and listen, I –"

"I mean, there were _loads_ of people out there."

James grabbed ahold of my shoulders. "Spencer, listen to me –"

It didn't hurt or anything but his touch made me all tingly and all the more nervous and panicky, more aware of the fact that we were both, you know, alone and together in the loo. And of what couples that fancy each other something crazy usually do when they're alone and together in the loo. And just the mere thought of that made me blush. "And – and – and what if one of 'em old harpies knows my mum and says something to her –?"

"_Spencer!"_ He clamped a hand over my mouth, his other hand still clasping my upper arm. "Would you forget about all that? Look at me. Please."

My gaze reluctantly left the off-white porcelain of the sink to look into James' intense brown eyes. I swallowed hard. Slowly, he removed his hand from my face and took a step back so that there was at least half a meter of space between us.

"Well?" he demanded. He reminded me a bit of an oversized little kid as he stood there waiting for me to say something, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his posture less than perfect.

I cleared my throat. "Well what?"

"Well, what do you think?"

I stared at him motionless for a moment. I couldn't stall anymore. While I was legitimately self-conscious about our currently location, I knew it shouldn't have been the first thing on my mind. And now that it wasn't anymore, my thoughts were racing again – as they had been before we left our table. I felt almost lightheaded, as if the room were spinning. "You – you're a – a – you're a –" I stopped, almost unsure. I mean, what if I had heard him wrong? Misunderstood? This had to be a mistake – or at least a joke. I mean, _seriously_.

James nodded at me encouragingly. "I'm a –?" he prompted.

I took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out, I guess. "A w-wizard."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"As in a person who can do…who can do magic."

"Yeah." He paused and then added, "Loads of it, actually."

If it weren't so unsanitary, I probably would have keeled over right there on the loo floor. I mean, were we really talking about this? I knew that James was a "Non-Muggle" or whatever after all the conversations we'd had; I mean, I had theorized over what that could mean for hours, coming up with the most absurd ideas. But to actually _know_? Well, it all just seemed so far out, so ridiculous. It just wasn't _possible_. All my life I had heard stories about this sort of thing from my dad, watched fantasy and science fiction shows on the telly with him, but that was all make believe. I knew that. I had watched my dad waste his whole life on the private hope that it was all within his reach, more than a far away dream.

But I knew better than that.

Biting my lip, I shook my head. "There's no such thing," I whispered.

James didn't actually speak, but his eyes said it all, _'I think you and I both know that isn't true.'_

I tried to swallow but found that I couldn't; my tongue kind of felt like it was too big for my mouth. "So you've got a wand and everything?" It wasn't exactly a question.

He allowed himself a small smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. Throwing my hands up in the air, I let out the laugh of a mad woman who had finally escaped her confinements. "This is insane! You – you can't be a – a..._that!_ This can't be real…"

James took a step forward, completely eliminated the space between us. He placed two hesitant hands on my waist. That felt nice. My own hands had somehow found his chest and decided to rest there for the time being. Which, you know, felt nice too. "It is. I know it sounds mad, but it is. I swear." He had leaned in so that his forehead was touching mine; butterflies had taken residence in my stomach from all the closeness that still felt very, very nice. "Are you alright with that?"

I murmured something that slightly resembled a yes and soon his eyes were closing and my eyes were closing and I could feel that his lips were getting closer and closer to mine –

Snapping out of it, I pushed him away.

And proceeded to kick him in the shins.

"Oi!" James jumped in surprise, holding me back at an arm's length so I couldn't kick him again. "What was that for?"

"You're such a liar, you know that?" I fumed, trying in vain to break free from my restraints. It was bizarre, even for me, this sudden shift in mood, but I was too furious to even care. I mean, how could he?

James looked at me as if I had three heads. "What? What are you on about?"

"A warlock!" I spat, finally ceasing all of my squirming and accepting defeat. "I asked you weeks ago if you were a warlock and you said no you prat!"

James stood there frozen for a moment with his jaw dropped before he spluttered, "I can honestly say that never in my life have I ever been called a bleeding _warlock_!"

_Unbelievable_. Scoffing, I cried out, "Oh so I get lied to because of a technicality? I guessed right and you know it!"

He rolled his eyes, which only seemed to infuriate me further. "Oh hush up, you know what I am now. Isn't that enough?"

"No, actually it isn't you arse – _mmm_."

My insult got lost in his lips. And I wasn't exactly complaining. Ever since the whole incident with Robyn, I was in a bit of a rut and hadn't really allowed myself to completely lose myself in James' kisses. But this was different. And I mean, we were in the _loo_ of all places. But as his lips moved against mine, I couldn't possibly care less.

His teeth lightly scraped against my bottom lip, fingers danced along my cheek, tangled themselves in my hair; I tugged at the fabric of his shirt along the neckline, ran my fingers along the contours of his chest. Our breathing was equally heavy and there was an urgency to the kiss that had never been there before. I was soon backed into the door. And it was almost as if it had knocked some sense into me.

"Wait. Stop. Something's not right."

James pulled away, eyes furrowed and his hands still in my hair and resting on my shoulder blade. "What? What do you mean?"

I shook my head; I couldn't believe that I hadn't picked up on it before and yet it seemed so obvious now. "You're too calm; you're not panicking."

"What –? Why should I be panicking?"

"No, I _know_ you. This isn't right. You'd be – you should be ripping your hair out, racing around, mumbling to yourself like a mad man. I mean, you just told me what a Non-Muggle is and you seem so okay with it…" I trailed off as it suddenly dawned on me. "Oh my God. Oh my – you – you told me on purpose…didn't you?"

The thought sounded even more absurd out loud than it did in my head, but I knew it had to be true – there was no other explanation. James looked absolutely appalled, his jaw dropped and eyes wide.

I had caught him.

Er…I think?

But as soon as the shock was there, it was gone, leaving his expression nothing short of composed. He stood up taller, almost as if challenging me. "Yeah? So what if I did?"

My hands shot up to cover my mouth and I gasped, complete shock washing over me. I mean, I know I had just accused him and all of telling me on purpose – but to actually be right? It was a bit unsettling and unexpected, to be honest. I mean, after all he had done to cover his tracks, to keep his little secret from me, he had just thrown that all away and told me on purpose? More than a bit surprising if you asked me. "W-what? But why?"

To my complete and utter dismay, James' face turned a light shade of pink. I couldn't possibly imagine why he would suddenly be so uncomfortable around me, but it was a good change of pace, I thought. I couldn't _always_ be the awkward, embarrassed one in this relationship.

That would be just plain cruel.

And I mean, I probably wouldn't have a boyfriend for very long if that were the case. I'd imagine that my little word vomit problem and tendency to humiliated myself would lose its already scathingly low level of Cute Factor in a few weeks time and thus be Not Cute and rather obnoxious instead.

With a sigh, James ran a hand through his hair, and when he spoke, his words were more addressed to his trainers than to me. "My, uh, my mum said that if you knew what we are in time for my dad's birthday party, you could come. You know, i-if you want to, that – that is."

Whatever I had thought he was going to say, it certainly was not that.

I was pretty sure that my heart had stopped beating all together. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling suddenly dry and itchy. I mean, I wasn't entirely sure how to even _respond_ to that. James' dad…he was some sort of, like – what was it? – _savior_ of his world, or something like that? Didn't James ramble on about something like that before he dragged me in here? So, like, a party for his dad – Holy Mr. Big Shot Savior Potter – would have loads of people at it, I'd imagine. And I mean loads, and loads, and _loads_, of people. That would be a lot of people to potentially embarrass myself in front of – too many, in fact. My cut off is at "loads" and unfortunately "loads, and loads, and _loads_" would be far too many loads for my taste. Just thinking about it, imagining all of the loads, made me want to throw up – and I mean actual vomit, not just of the word variety.

And that would not be a very pretty sight.

Especially in the loo. With my boyfriend. My boyfriend who I fancied very much and would rather that he wasn't covered in my puke. And covered in my puke…in the loo.

…

Why exactly were we in here again? Was there a specific reason why we couldn't politely ask the stoned hipsters to remove themselves from the path of the exit? Because I'm fairly certain that would have only taken us a few extra seconds. And we wouldn't currently be taking residence in this dodgy loo with only a few centimeters of space between us while discussing things that made me incredibly nervous and hazardous in the non-word vomit department. Things like his apparent wizardness and the prospect of being in the presence of the people that raised him along with their loads, and loads, and _loads_ of guests.

And like, wow, did it suddenly get _really_ hot in here or what?

I couldn't meet his eyes. I didn't know why, but I felt like he probably could smell my fear as it was so the mere act of eye contact would only make it worse. So I followed his fine example by staring at my own shoes. And unfortunately, I was not blessed with the universe's sympathy that allowed me to blush only a light pink. No, unlike James Potter, the universe did not particularly like me at all, and this was confirmed by the heat that was radiating off of my face. So, yeah, knowing my luck, I was probably the color of a tomato.

Oh, well, how lovely. I'm sure every bloke dreams of dating a fucking tomato.

But, again, I didn't know what to say. So I blurted out the first thing that came to mind; I mean, it's not like I haven't done that before. The results tended to be on a scale of Slightly Disastrous to Full-Blown Disaster and I don't know, I guess I was feeling like the odds were in my favor.

"You, um, want me to meet your family?" I finally exclaimed a bit too loudly.

…It seemed that the odds were in fact not. In my favor, that is.

I mean, it could have been worse – really, it could have. But the way that it was phrased and the way I kind of screamed it in his face made it seem like I didn't _want_ to meet his family – which I totally didn't, but it wasn't because I didn't think his parents were quality people or something. I, like, totally did – think that they were quality people, that is. I mean, if these were the individuals that created James, then, well, they were most definitely the bee's knees. But, like, here's the problem: I wasn't. I was so not the bee's knees. I was, like, the polar opposite of the bee's knees. In fact, I was the back of the bee's knees. You know what I'm talking about. That part of the body that no one in the history of ever has had any idea what they're called. That one. Like it's so un-bee's kneesy that no even bothered to name it. Or even worse, I was the funny bone – because everyone knows that when you hit your funny bone, it is so not funny despite its very misleading and very fun sounding name.

And that was me. I sure as hell sounded fun. But I was not. I was just a mess. A mess that no one would ever be daft enough to let near their son.

James seemed to deflate at the sound of my words. Which made me sad. Because I liked it much better when he smiled. And when I was the cause of that smile. "Well, I mean, you already know Freddy and you sort of met my parents and my brother and sister on the platform, but, er, yeah. I want you to meet them."

He gave me a smile that looked like it was an even mix between nervous and hopeful. I don't think what I said next made him feel any less anxious.

"That – that's a _horrible_ idea!"

"I kn – wait, _what?_"

I threw my hands into the air in exasperation. "I'll totally muck it up – I just know it! And don't give me that look, you know it too!" I pouted, letting out a groan. "You're laughing at me."

And he totally was. Resting his chin on the crown of my head, he snickered like the arsehole that he was – especially since I could practically _feel_ the chin-on-head action making my hair frizz. Which, in addition to the laughter, was not appreciated.

I poked him in the chest. "Um, excuse me, a bit of sympathy here? I'm about to make the fuck up of the century and you're laughing at me and messing up my hair simultaneously."

"So that means you'll come?"

"I – well…yeah."

"Good."

James hummed in appreciation, the sound of which vibrated through my entire being, and then planted a kiss on the top of my head, causing me to feel very, very tingly and very, very warm. "Thank you."

Sighing, I leaned forward to rest my forehead against his chest. "I'm not sure if you'll be thanking me when I throw up all over your dad's birthday cake. Or accidently sit on your cat and crush his little kitty skull – oh gosh, do you even have a cat? I have a cat. Have I mentioned that? His name is Chester and he didn't really appreciate it the last time I sat on him but I didn't mean to, he blends in with the couch so there was literally nothing I could have done about it."

"I don't have a cat."

"Well then, I guess that's one less thing to worry about."

We were still for a moment and it was nice. We were just leaning on one another and lost in our own thoughts. It suddenly occurred to me that someone could be standing outside the door at that very moment in despite need to use the loo. And yet here we were, occupying the loo but not exactly using it for its intended purposes. I was about to voice this, when suddenly James spoke up.

"If you didn't tell Robyn that I told you all this, it would be much appreciated, by the way."

"Mmm, told me what?"

James pulled back so that he could look at me directly; his eyebrow raised a little bit too judgingly for my taste. "Seriously? In the midst of all the 'meeting the family' and 'sitting on cats' crises, you forgot every bloody thing I told you? Have you gone mad?"

I think what I liked most about that sentence was the fact that he had acted as if I was ever sane to begin with.

But I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to remember what had been said. I mean, there had been a snog somewhere in all of this, and then –

"Oh!" My hands flew up to my face to cover my mouth as the memory and the shock came over me once again. And shit, it was overwhelming. "Oh my God, you're a – a _wizard_, fuck, like a real fucking _wizard_, and holy shit that means your family is comprised of a bunch of wizards so, like, this party is going to be filled with _loads_ of them. And they're, like, people who can do magic and they can Abracadabra the shit out of me if I do something wrong, and I, uh, you can't make me go, you – _you can't do that to me_."

I stood there wide-eyed just shaking my head. This was too much, like, _way_ too much. I mean it was cool and all that James was a wizard – I didn't have a problem with that – but he just couldn't drop something like this on me and then expect me to go to a party where I was supposed to act like everything was all hunky dory. Like this was all _normal_. Because it wasn't, it absolutely wasn't.

James looked torn between laughing and asking if I needed to have my head checked. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something when I suddenly gasped. I shook my head. "Robyn goes to school with you. And you go to a school for wizards. So that means she's a…and she never told me…" I trailed off, suddenly feeling small – very, very small. And incredibly foolish. Like I wasn't good enough or something; like she didn't think I wasn't worthy enough to know her secret.

James rested a hand on my shoulder, rubbing comforting circles on my collarbone. My eyes followed his blazing touch, certain that I would never get used to such a feeling. "You just can't tell her that you know all this, okay? I kind of, maybe, sort of swore that I wasn't going to say anything."

I looked up to meet his gaze. "When did you speak to her?"

He shrugged. "Last time you did. Right before I went after you, she told me that it wasn't my place to say anything – which is bollocks, if you ask me. But I wasn't gonna bring this whole thing up until the end of summer anyway so I agreed. But then my mum said you could come to the party and, well, I know this is all new and kind of intimidating and whatnot, but I want you to be there. Do you?"

My heart pounded. I mean, as much as it scared me, I would be there; I was going to meet his family that just so happened to be wizards, and I was more likely than not going to say something stupid, and we would ultimately have a nice day together. And that was something I could do, something I could do for him. And something I could do for me, as well.

I stood on my tiptoes and leaned forward to place a kiss on the bit of skin that I could reach, which just so happened to be the side of his neck. "I want to be there," I hummed into his skin, which seemed to relax the moment the words left my lips. I hadn't even realized that he had been so tense.

His arms snaked around my waist to pull me close and he pressed his lips against my temple. "Good. I'm glad." He paused. "Do you wanna get out of here? Go someplace else?"

I sighed, my breath tickling against his neck. "You know as romantic as being in the loo is, I would very much appreciate it if we relocated."

He laughed into my hair and removed his hand from my waist to unlock the door.

My heart gave a jerk in my chest. "Wait!" I spluttered, grabbing onto his wrist to stop him. "We – we can't be seen leaving the loo together!"

James' eyebrows furrowed together. "Er, why not? We were both seen entering it."

"_James!"_

"Alright, alright, I just don't what the big deal is."

I rolled my eyes. "Just think about it for a minute, will you? We walked into the loo together, like, what? Fifteen minutes ago? Twenty? And then we just _leave_ together? I mean, what do you think that looks like?"

"It looks like I got _really_ lucky."

And that is when I began to choke on my own spit.

I mean, that was exactly what it looked like, but I had intended for my question to be rhetorical. Because, you know, saying something like _that_ would only lead to me blushing profusely like never before.

Which is exactly what I did.

"You get all cute and red when you're embarrassed, you know," James said rather casually, cheeky grin in place while tucking a loose hair behind my ear.

"It's not cute and you're being a jerk," I mumbled to the floor.

"How exactly am I being a jerk?"

"You're embarrassing me on purpose."

"Which brings me back to my original point about you being cute when you're embarrassed."

I felt my face heat up even more. "Erm, thanks, I guess. But, um, how exactly are we getting out of here?"

"I think I've got an idea."

I looked up in time to see James reach into his pocket and pull out a long and slender stick. It had a dark, almost reddish wood and looked polished and smooth.

"Is that your wand?" The question sounded so odd coming out of my lips, but I knew that must have been what it was. I vaguely remembered people carrying them around when I had fallen through the barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters several weeks ago; at the time I had thought they were just wooden sticks. Now I knew better, I guess.

James nodded in response to my question. "I have to warn you, since it's your first time, this is gonna feel really weird and uncomfortable, but it's totally safe, I swear. I have my license and everything."

"That sounds like a really bad opening line to a porno."

"You know you're absolutely right."

Letting out a nervous giggle, I said, "So what is this exactly?"

"Apparation. Kind of like teleportation. It's how wizards get from one place to another in only a matter of seconds, but like I said, it's a weird sensation that you definitely won't be prepared for since you've never done it. But don't worry, it'll be over before you know it and no one will see us leaving here together. Sound good?"

It took me a moment to pick my jaw up off the floor. "…I'm sorry, I'm still stuck at the whole teleportation bit."

James took a step back and offered me his hand. "Do you trust me?"

I stared at him for a moment but then nodded slowly. "Of course."

And while this was really scary and while I was incredibly and equally fascinated and uncertain about this whole teleportation thing, I knew I could do this. Because this was James and I trusted him. So before I could change my mind, I placed my hand in his, threading my fingers through his.

He smiled, then suddenly paused as if he was remembering something and then proceeded to disentangle his fingers from mine to move his grip from my hand to my bicep. "Ready?"

My returning smile was a bit more uncertain. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Okay. Here we go."

Giving my arm a little squeeze, James took a step forward and then multiple things seemed to happen all at once. I felt James' arm twist away from me and his grip on my arm forced me to follow. It didn't seem so bad at first but then everything went black – and I don't mean the kind of black you see when your eyes are closed or the sun has gone down. It was literally pitch black, as if all color had been erased and this was all that was left. And I couldn't breathe; I didn't feel like I was suffocating or anything but I felt like all of the air had suddenly disappeared. Pressure was all around me – as if I were being compressed into a small space – and it made me feel like I was being pushed into many different directions at once. It was extremely unpleasant and it was all happening at once and yet it was happening so slowly.

And then just like that, it was over.

We landed in the grass of a little field just outside of a village I had never seen before. I didn't get much time to really take a look at it or to marvel over the fact that we were standing in grass rather than on bathroom tiles because I suddenly felt really nauseous. The sensation had hit me like a ton of bricks and I leaned over a bit, placing my hands on my knees.

"Alright there, Spencer?"

"I think I'm gonna hurl."

James didn't say anything, just placed a hand on my back as I collected myself.

Thankfully I didn't actually throw up; I had just needed to stand there and breathe for a bit. And after a few minutes, I felt a bit better, not quite as queasy as before and was able to stand up to my full height. I looked around, taking in my surroundings, my jaw shamelessly dropped.

"We're not in the loo anymore," I said breathlessly.

"That, we are not," James confirmed, giving my side a little poke and a smile on his lips.

This was just unbelievable. We had actually traveled from one place to another in only a matter of seconds – we went from being _inside_ to _outside_. We went from being in a little coffee shop in London to – huh. I actually didn't know where we were. I turned to James, suddenly plagued with a fit of giggles. I just couldn't wrap my head around all of this; I was stunned, impressed, _amazed_. "Where are we exactly?"

James' grin widened as he sent me a wink.

"Welcome to Hogsmeade, Spencer."


End file.
